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lu-undy · 4 years

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Chapter 63 - SBT

Here it is!

Day after day, week after week, month after month, Perle grew up to become the most beautiful cat Mundy had set eyes on. Whenever he walked in the streets, people would stare at that scruffy man with a majestic snow white cat laying on his shoulders.

And she grew up to be rotten spoilt, that cat! The kids spent their time petting her and she was never out of scratches' reach for very long. Her fur grew up so much that her tail looked like it was made of soft cotton. She would wave it left and right, walking along her Dad, protecting him for strangers. But Mundy had raised her to accept children and he could even sometimes see a bit of a mother's instinct on her.

He would set her free and she would roam the streets with other cats sometimes before coming back home to eat and sleep. Meanwhile, Mundy got busy with the homeless around there, as usual. He gave Maurice a hand, here and there. Sometimes he was serving soup, and he helped prepare it, other times, he was running a few errands for the tall king of beggars.

They only had one agreement. Mundy would refuse any remotely risky job, might it be just passing on information on a hot target from one courier to the next. And Maurice had agreed. He respected that.

Most of the time, Mundy was at the storehouses, helping out. The rich folks of town would get rid of what they don't use: clothes, toys, anything. The beggars would then collect all of it and go through it. Keep what can be of use or easily repaired and get rid of the rest. Mundy would be one of those people. He either went through bags and bags of clothes, or he would repair the occasional toaster or electric appliance.

He was moderately happy with it. It was honest work, the pay allowed him and Perle to live comfortably in the van and he would even sometimes find some clothes for himself, or for the cat. July and August were coming and the temperatures were gently going down, and more and more beggars gathered around barrels in which they lit fires.

Mundy relied on his clothes and his little electric heater in his van.

"Meow?"

That evening, Perle insisted on going out for dinner. She kept on meowing again and again and refused to eat her tuna.

"Right, let's get somethin' out then, baby."

"Meow!"

"I know you're not a baby anymore, but you’ll always be a baby to me, kitty cat…”

“Meow…!”

He chuckled and they walked in the streets. Perle never strayed too far from her master so he didn't even use her leash. She would trot here and there, jump on low walls and Mundy didn't worry for her. At each cross-road, she would come and sit down at his feet. Only when he started crossing the road, would Perle follow, trotting happily. He had noticed her doing that with Lucien, back in the days, and he guessed that he was the one to educate her so.

And the more she grew up, the more Mundy saw the resemblance between her and her Papa, not physical of course, but in her character. She was a precious cat and behaved as arrogantly as Lucien used to. But under her thick fur of snow white aristocratic looks, Perle was the most gentle lady cat around. She would let children play with her and would offer a paw to people who held out their hands, whoever they might be.

"Oh, hey, there, how may I help?"

"V, it's me."

"What-?!"

"Meow."

Victoria's eyes moved down to Perle.

"Is that you Pearl?! Oh my God, you grew up so much! And M, sorry I didn't recognise you with short hair…!"

"It's ok, don't worry. Can we have a table?"

"Sure, d'you wanna…?" Victoria was about to offer the same table Mundy used to come to with Lucien back in the days. But on second thoughts, maybe he had moved on and didn't want to dig up the past. After all, Lucien had passed months ago now.

"Yeah, I will, if the table's free." He answered.

"Sure, go ahead - oh!" Victoria turned her head and saw Perle already lying on the table. "I guess someone is ready to order, eh?"

Mundy chuckled.

"Yeah, kinda." He went to sit at the table. "She actually was the one to push me to come here."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"She's a great cat." Victoria said.

"Meow."

"And a big one too, look at you, baby, your fluff is everywhere, I can't see the bloody table!"

"Meow!"

Victoria chuckled.

"Alright, I'll give you a minute to make up your mind."

"Thanks, V."

After a few minutes, the waitress came back.

"So, are you guys ready to order?"

"Yeah, I'll have a coffee and a croissant please. If you have a bit of tuna for the lady, that'd be great."

"Sure. D'you mind if I take a coffee with you?"

"Oh, sure."

"Right, I'll be back in a minute. Oh and by the way, you can call me Victoria. L called me V because when I asked him his name, he said L."

Mundy smiled. Yeah, that sounded like his Lu' alright…

When the young woman came back again, she was carrying a tray. She put the plate with the tuna can in front of Perle and gave Mundy his coffee and croissant.

"Thanks, mate."

He opened the can of tuna and Perle started eating it.

"So," Victoria sat down. "What's up?"

"What's up…?" Mundy repeated. "Well, not much, to be honest. I work with Maurice, helpin' out the poor. Perle helps out with uh… mice control let's say."

Victoria smiled.

"She grew up so much…! I remember the first time L brought her here. She was a tiny baby-faced kitten with massive eyes. And now she's the most beautiful cat ever…! Doesn't surprise me that L got her."

"He didn't buy her."

"What?" Victoria asked.

"He rescued her. Found her skinny and shivering at his hotel door."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. He told me he gave her some tuna and he thought about releasing her. But she didn't want to go."

"Oh… She looks so… I don't know, she looks like him but in a cat. Her fur is as prim as his suits, she's got the same gaze in her eyes, she's confident about herself…" Victoria said, staring at Perle.

"Yeah, she took a lot from her Papa."

Perle stopped eating and pricked her ears at the mention of the word.

"Meow?"

"Yeah, we're talking about Papa, baby." Mundy brushed her head gently. She closed her eyes and purred.

"D'you know what breed she is?"

"I'd say ragdoll, maybe mixed with something else? She's got the same long hair and the shape of the eyes." He answered.

Perle finished her tuna and laid down on the table, lazily waving her tail left and right.

"And what about you, Victoria? Last time I heard from you, you said you were engaged?" Mundy asked.

"Yeah. We want to get married and we're slowly getting the money for it."

"That's great, congrats on the ring, eh." Mundy pointed at her finger.

"Thanks! It's a beautiful thing, yeah."

"When d'you think you'll have the wedding?"

"Somewhere over December, when it's warmer."

"Fair enough."

"And uh… Can I ask… Uhm," Victoria hesitated to ask. "On your side of things… Have you, y'know, maybe seen someone else?"

Mundy smiled.

"Nah. Still love him." He simply answered. "I go and visit him on the weekend. Tell him about my week, about anything really."

Victoria looked distraught.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm doing fine. I just…" Mundy sighed. "I just know there's no one else like him or as good as him. He's… Y'know, he wanted to be here and not sent back to France even though he only spent a few months here. That constantly blows my mind when I think about it."

"Oh…"

"He told Maurice he wanted to be next to me. I'm - I'm happy about it but it just… What surprises me is that he didn't want to be buried with his fiancée and kid. I mean…"

"Bloody hell, he must have loved you unlike anyone before…"

Mundy blushed and looked down at the empty coffee cup that he held between his hands.

"Well, then we're two."

"M, look, I don't mean to tell you what to do or anythin' but maybe it's time to, y'know, find someone else or…?"

"Nah, V. Can't do it. My mind's stuck."

"I can see that. You talk about him still in the present, even after all these months."

"Yeah, it's even worse than that." He admitted, still not looking her in the eyes.

"What d'you mean?" She gently asked.

"I won't bother you with this." He answered.

"Please, M, you don't bother me. The way I see it, I do it for him. He wouldn't want to see you anxious with no one to talk to. So please, go ahead."

Mundy took a deep breath and sighed.

"To this day, when Perle and I go to sleep, we hold on to one of his jackets. She uses it as a blanket and I just… I hold it for the smell of it. And when the perfume goes away, I spray a bit more of it. But that's not all… I uh… I started smoking more."

He put a hand in his inner pocket and took the metallic cigarette case that belonged to Lucien.

"I guess they are the same cigs as him?" She asked and he nodded.

"And everyday that God makes, I look at this old thing to tell me the time before realising that the time will always be 4.26pm, the time at which…" Mundy had pulled up his sleeve a bit to show Lucien's broken watch and he couldn't finish his sentence.

"You can't have it repaired?" She asked.

"I could. But I don't want to change anything in it." Mundy covered his wrist again and opened the cigarette case. He took one and lit it.

"Hold on…" Victoria said, staring at the case. "Can I…?"

"Oh, sure, you smoke too?"

"No, it's just…"

Victoria opened the case flat on the table again and pushed the cigarettes left and right.

"Is that you and your parents?"

Mundy almost choked. Behind the cigarettes was that picture of him that had been missing from the van, the most recent picture he had of his parents.

"What the hell is it doing here?!" He asked.

"You didn't put it there?" She asked.

"No! I've been looking for it everywhere! I thought I'd lost it, I - huh?!" He gasped when the realisation hit him. "Lu'..."

"What?" Victoria asked.

"It's him. He stole a picture of me and my parents and…"

Victoria's eyebrows jumped.

"What?!"

"Listen. On the day of his funeral, after the ceremony, I went back to the van with Pearl. I tidied up the place and realised that this photo was missing. I have a few of them stuck to the wall and this is the last one I have of my parents and I. I thought it had fallen, maybe even flew out the door one day without me realising it."

"How does that all loop back to L?" She asked.

"There was one day that Lu' came to my van alone. After he came back from it, he told me that he couldn't help but have a look around my stuff, the curious bastard… That's what he meant! He took that picture and…"

Mundy looked down and removed all the cigarettes from the case. He took that photo and Victoria saw another one behind it. Mundy put them both flat on the table.

"This was his fiancée and kid, and him obviously."

"Oh my God, he looked so young!"

"And that's me and my parents…"

"Woah… And he kept both in his cigarette case?"

"That he carries everywhere, all the time. Each time he would open it he would see…"

"You." Victoria said.

Mundy sighed but with a smile.

"I love you, you thief…" He muttered to himself.

Victoria grinned but deep down, she was concerned. No one visits the grave of someone they used to love that frequently for that long. No one clings to souvenirs that way, no one sleeps with their ex-'s jacket, spraying it with their perfume, no one starts to smoke as their ex-'s did…

"M?"

"Yeah?"

"I have to tell you this because no one else might."

"What is it?" He asked, looking her in the eye.

"You probably shouldn't do all these things."

"What d'you mean?"

"The cat is more than enough for you to remember him by."

Perle stopped bathing herself and turned her head to her Dad. She had felt it. Dad became hot and he smelt weird. He wasn't scared or angry, it was somewhere in between.

"I can't." He clenched his jaw and looked down.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I tried. I tried not doing all these things. But without his jacket, I can't sleep, without his cigs, I get too anxious to the point where I can't leave the van and even Perle can't do anything to make me feel better."

"That doesn't sound too good, M."

"Yeah, well, didn't sound good when Maurice told me that he passed either, eh." He answered passive-aggressively.

"Maybe you should see someone." She suggested.

"Told you. There's no one else half as g-"

"No." She cut him. "Someone to talk to, about all this."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"So you think I have a problem?" He asked. "I'm not mad."

"I'm not saying that you are. I am just suggesting that you try because it might do you good. I've never met anyone who didn't go past the grieving stage for that long. From what you tell me, it's like you live in denial!"

"What?!" He asked.

"You live with all his stuff as if he was still there, but he isn't! He's been gone for months!"

He frowned.

"Look, M, it's not good that you live like this. You are not really living in the real world. You need to open your eyes and believe the hard truth. Don't hide from it, don't try to put together an act to pretend he's still here."

Mundy couldn't hear any more of it. He took the cigarette case back and left. Perle jumped after him the second he did and followed him.

Their walk back home was silent and she could feel her Dad was distraught.

"Meow?"

He didn't answer and continued walking. He slipped in his van and locked himself in before letting himself fall on his sofa.

"Meow?"

He didn't know what to say.

"It doesn't make sense."

Perle laid on his chest, brushing her head against his.

"How can I just… forget? I can't! I can't pretend it didn't happen! And I'm not pretending it didn't happen! If it hadn't happened, we'd be with him, wouldn't we?"

"Meow…"

"I mean it stands to reason…!" He looked into Perle's eyes and she started kneading his chest with her fluffy paws. He sighed.

"Sorry to yell at you, baby. I shouldn't. You did nothing wrong." He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her dearly. "I just miss him… I wish he was still there. And with winter coming, I just feel a bit miserable, is all."

"Meow."

"D'you think V was right?"

"Meow." She looked up at him with her bewitching eyes.

"Hm."

Perle trotted away to the door and scratched it repeatedly.

"Wanna go out again?"

"Meow."

"Alright, here… Door's open. Be careful with cars and stuff, eh?"

Perle sat at the doorstep.

"What? You're not going?"

"Meow." She sat there, her long fur brushed by the cold wind of winter.

"Wanna come in then?"

"Meow." She refused and sat such that Mundy couldn't fully close the door. He sighed.

"It's really cold, baby, now either you get inside or you go out."

"Meow."

"What d'you want?"

She turned her head up to him.

"Meow?"

"With you…? Alright…" He put on his coat again and followed her out.

This time, he let her completely decide where she wanted to go and followed behind. Mundy's eyes were lowered down to his boots as he walked the pavement mindlessly. The sun went down fast and soon, he walked in the periodic puddles of sodium orange street lights.

When she turned, he did. When she stopped, he did. He put his hands in his pockets and sighed as his thoughts continued to roll, powered by his frustration and distress.

How he wished Lucien was there, how he wished he could be walking the streets with him! Even if they wouldn't hold hands out in the open, even if he wouldn't show how much the posh snob counted for him. Who needed to hold hands when one simple gaze spoke a thousand words?

And Lucien's eyes… Two drops of ice. Cold and yet the most sensual gaze Mundy had ever crossed in his life. It was absurd but each time he locked eyes with him, he would feel the attraction, in his own mind, in his heart, and everywhere else. His hands would have pins and needles to the tip of his fingers, his knees would weaken and feel like jelly, his whole chest would beat a march of warmth, comfort, and safety.

But those days were long gone and similarly to a decade ago, time was passing, treading over him, trampling his face with heavy hooves whilst Mundy was stuck, like the hand of a broken watch, like the hand of Lucien's watch.

"Meow!" MIAOU

Perle broke Mundy's descent to the coldest places of his mind.

"What?"

She trotted to a door and sat next to it.

"Meow."

Mundy frowned and raising his head, he saw the name of the establishment blink in golden neon lights.

The Queen Victoria.

He sighed.

"Oh bugger… And of course, you want me to get in?"

"Meow."

"I'm not dressed properly for this, baby. And I don't have the energy."

"Meow!" She insisted.

"No." He turned on his heels and walked away. The sound of his heeled boots resounded loudly in his ears until he stopped at a crossroad. When the cars braked to let him through, he looked down but Perle wasn't by his side.

"Pearl?"

He looked round and around, his eyes scanning his surroundings as he suddenly realised that the streets were busy with people, walking, running, busy like bees in the city.

"Pearl?! Baby! Where are you?"

He walked back on his steps and finally found her.

"What the hell are you bloody doin' here?"

She was still sitting next to the entrance door of the Queen Victoria.

"Meow!"

"C'mon, let's go back home!"

"Meow!" She insisted and meowed louder such that people in the streets stopped and watched the man talk to his cat, the poor fool…

"Right…" He pushed the door and got inside to escape all the eyes that were riveted on him in the streets.

"Good evening, Sir. Long time no see! Your usual table is free, if you would be so kind…"

"Wh-?"

Mundy didn't have time to say anything and in no time, he was seated back at the table he used to come and watch Lucien from. Perle climbed on the opposite seat and on the table to lay down there.

"You're in a lot of trouble, Pearl. I don't have any kind of money to pay anything from here…"

Mundy looked around. The restaurant was less busy and the same musicians were on stage. When their piece ended, people applauded left and right. It didn't boom like it used to back when Lucien was singing there.

"Sir?"

"Huh?!"

"Oh, sorry to scare you, here, this is on the house, from Andy and his musicians."

It was the same old chocolate dessert that a waiter had put on the table. Mundy raised his eyes to the stage and Andy nodded to him while the patrons in the dining area were still applauding.

When the applause passed, Mundy sighed. He took the spoon on the dessert plate and stared at the chocolate cake. It looked exactly the same but Mundy knew even before putting it in his mouth. It would taste and smell different now.

The orchestra started a new piece, but Mundy wasn't listening. He would just eat the cake to honour the musicians' gift, and leave. He raised the bit of cake on his spoon to his mouth and as he ate it, a female voice made him almost choke on it.

{To the readers, the song is "Heartbreaker" by Dionne Warwick}

"I got to say it and it's hard for me,

You got me crying like I thought I would never be,

Love is believin', but you let me down,

How can I love you when you ain't around?"

Mundy raised his head to the stage. A middle-aged black female was singing. She was wearing a beige and golden top with long sleeves and a matching pair of trousers.

"And I get to the morning and you never call,

Love should be everything or not at all,

And it don't matter whatever you do,

I made a life out of loving you!"

Mundy put a hand on his mouth. The words hit him. They hit him and they hurt. They hit him and they hurt so damn much.

"Only to find any dream that I follow is dying,

I'm crying in the rain,

I could be searching my world for a love everlasting,

Feeling no pain,

When will we meet again?"

Mundy thought the music wouldn't touch him, but it did. It broke him inside. He could feel it, burning like an ulcer but not just in his stomach. The pain was everywhere in his chest, in his stomach and in his head.

And it seemed to him that the words beat him up…

"Why do you have to be a

Heartbreaker?

Is it a lesson that I never knew?

Got to get out of the spell that I'm under

My love for you!"

They gathered in a circle around him and hit.

"Suddenly, everything I ever wanted

Has passed me by

This world may end

Not you and I!"

Mundy lowered his head and hid his face in his hands, trying to protect it from the kicks and hits.

"My love is stronger than the universe

My soul is crying for you, and that cannot

be reversed"

But they hurt. Mundy screwed his eyes shut and tensed up everywhere, as if contracting all his muscles would lessen the pain of every hit.

"Out of my mind, I am held by the power of you, love

Tell me then should I try?

Or should I say goodbye?"

The Aussie pushed his chair and left the place.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years

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elizabeth’s origin

“may i request a Young!Royai fic about the origin of "Elizabeth" where Roy thinks he overhears Riza listening to a radio play but really she's just living her best lonely, only child life and doing different voices/acting as different characters? thank you so much for all that you share!” – shmesco on ao3

The music that was playing somewhere in the house was just enticing enough to draw Roy away from his studies. He should stay. He should continue with his studies. Glancing at the grandfather clock in Master’s study, he was due for a break in five minutes. Settling himself into his chair, Roy refocussed on the paper in front of him, a small frown on his face as he concentrated on trying to block out the faint music.

Since when did anyone in this house play music?

Master Hawkeye was out on an errand in town. Riza was… somewhere. Roy didn’t know where. It saddened him to know she was on her own most of the time. He vowed he would try and make more of an effort to spend time with her –

The grandfather clock chimed on the hour, making Roy jump with the sudden sound. Slamming his textbook closed, he stood from his chair and left the study. He should’ve noted what page he’d been working on, but he didn’t care. His brain was feeling fried and he needed a rest, the words beginning to swim before his eyes. Plus, a walk through the house to try and find this mystery music would give him a good opportunity to stretch his legs. Roy grimaced as his muscles strained after sitting for so long.

The music called him up the stairs to the second floor. His assumption was correct that it was Riza, as it was coming from behind her bedroom door. He didn’t know she liked to listen to music.

The house could be suffocating in its silence because that was the way Master Hawkeye liked to work. Roy just thought he was the only one who found the silence to be too much sometimes.

Creeping forward, then cringing at the old creaky floorboards, Roy strained his ears to listen.

She was singing.

It was soft. It was incredibly quiet, but Roy could hear her voice matching the one coming from the radio. He froze in place, listening in closer.

Riza was singing along with the story.

Roy realised it was a tale he recognised after overcoming his initial shock. It was an old children’s one, but it was one of his sister’s favourites. Over time, the more he listened, the more he’d come to enjoy it too.

“Do you ever wish you could be someone else for a day, Hayate?” Riza whispered suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts.

Roy blinked. Hayate was her little dog toy. Was she… playing along with it?

“I do,” Riza continued, unaware of someone listening in on her. “I would be… Hm, I don’t know what name I would pick. I wouldn’t want to take Mother’s name. It’s too close to mine.”

“And so, Queen Elizabeth defeated the evil sorcerer who had cast a dastardly spell of silence over her kingdom,” the storyteller on the radio announced passionately. “With the spell broken, music could return to her lands and the people would rejoice once more, with song and dance. They would be happy for many years to come, all thanks to their wonderful Queen. The evil sorcerer who had held her people hostage with his tyranny and his silence was banished, defeated completely by our hero.”

“I like Elizabeth,” Riza breathed. “I would love to be like her. I like playing her parts too,” she admitted shyly, even while in the privacy of her own bedroom. “What do you think, Hayate?”

Roy was stuck in place. Too much new information was flooding his mind and he was trying to consume it all. Riza appeared to hate the silence in this house just as much as he did. And, she could sing! It was wonderful to hear from the girl who was always so silent and shy. Up here, in her room, she could express herself freely. With her father out the house, she could finally be free for a few hours. And she spoke to her toy animals. That was cute, Roy thought. He wondered what other things she liked. Did she do this often? It endeared her to him even more, and he had flashes of memories of him playing with his own toys a few years ago, running through his aunt’s bar with his toy horse in his hand, playing make believe. The stories and adventures he’d had… He missed them.

The sound of the front door slamming jerked him out of his thoughts. Roy got a fright, and there was a scramble behind Riza’s bedroom door as she flicked the radio off. Master Hawkeye had returned. Panicked, Roy realised she was hurrying towards the door. If she saw him standing outside, appearing to have been listening in, she’d never forgive or trust him again –

Roy turned and sprinted just as the door opened. A surprised gasp left Riza’s mouth and he paused, shoulders bunching up to his ears as he cringed.

“I…” Roy stammered as he whirled in place, trying to think of some excuse. You shouldn’t have run, you idiot!

“Mr. Mustang,” her father called with authority, demanding his presence.

Riza flinched and looked towards the stairs. Roy ignored him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –” Roy started to babble but was cut off by another door slamming.

Riza’s cheeks were bright pink. She was embarrassed.

“Riza,” Roy called desperately, forgoing the use of “Miss Hawkeye” like Master insisted upon. This was more important.

“Mr. Mustang!” Master was irritated now.

He pleaded with his eyes, begging her to believe him. Instead the bedroom door closed firmly. Blocking him.

You blew it, you idiot.

“Where were you?” Master Hawkeye asked as Roy entered the room. He hadn’t even bothered to look up as he rifled through his papers.

Roy stared at his back, eyes narrowing with distaste, because he was the reason Riza was so afraid to express herself. He was the reason this house was as silent as the grave. And… Roy had begun to resent him a little for it.

“In the bathroom,” Roy lied casually, sliding back into his chair. “I was on a break.”

Master glanced at the clock, like he didn’t believe Roy, then grunted in response. “Get back to work. We have much to do this afternoon.”

* * *

Riza didn’t talk to him. She was embarrassed and Roy felt incredibly guilty because of it. He’d tried to reach out, but it was either ignored completely or she stood and left the room.

He fidgeted as he approached Riza’s bedroom door. Master Hawkeye had gone into town again, but the radio wasn’t on. There was silence once more in her bedroom, and Roy mourned its loss.

Roy knocked nervously, feeling a bead of sweat form on his brow. He swiped it away, his hand shaky slightly. He had to make this right. He couldn’t mess this up either, so nerves were bundling uncomfortably in his stomach.

There was no reply from his knock.

“Riza?” he called out, dismissing the formality forced upon him by Master. “You – You don’t need to come out. Master Hawkeye is out the house just now too. I… I don’t know if you already know that or not…” Roy gave himself a shake, feeling foolish. “Anyway, I – I really liked your singing. It was beautiful –” Roy felt his face turning bright red. The words had come from his heart because her voice really was! But hearing himself saying it out loud felt like it was too strong a word. “I mean,” he stammered. “Your voice is beautiful. I hope I didn’t put you off.” Embarrassment was flowing through him, collecting more sweat on his forehead, and causing a bead to drop down his spine.

He was no good at this. He was used to people bending over backwards for him, but only because the people he’d mostly interacted with before coming here were his sisters. They spoiled him rotten because he was their baby brother, but it left him floundering now as he tried to resolve conflict that he’d created. Still, he was trying, Roy told himself. He had to try. His sister’s voices floated around his head, mentally scolding him from stopping this young girl from singing and doing something she enjoyed.

“Um, I really like that story. My older sisters do too. But I’ve also heard some more that are kind of like it.” Roy crouched, sliding the piece of paper in his hands underneath the door. “There’s more with Queen Elizabeth in it. I’ve written down the days and times they air. I… I understand if you can’t listen to them because…” Because of him, Roy wanted to say, but despite resenting Master Hawkeye for his behaviour, Roy was still afraid. He even looked over his shoulder to see if the intimidating man was standing at the top of the stairs, staring at him angrily.

Clearing his throat, Roy straightened. “I really like Queen Elizabeth too. She’s my favourite,” he added softly. “And, if you want, we could maybe listen to it together some time?” he stammered again, his nerves rearing their heads just when it mattered most. “Just – Just let me know. Or – Or don’t if you don’t want to. I’ll understand, don’t worry.” Roy let out his anxious breath, expelling the air forcefully from his lungs. “I’ll… see you later.”

Hoping he’d gotten through to her, or at least solved some problems he’d caused by his stupid eavesdropping, Roy trudged back down the stairs to Master’s study.

* * *

Two days later Roy was dozing on the couch in the Hawkeye’s living room when the sound of quiet music filled the room. Blinking his eyes awake, disorientated, and confused, he looked around but paused when he saw Riza standing by the radio. He jumped up in place, heart in his throat.

“My father is away out for an hour,” Riza whispered.

Nodding in understanding, Roy straightened his posture and looked at her expectantly.

“Would… Would you like to listen to…?” Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were cast downwards.

“I would love to,” Roy replied.

Riza strode over and sat next to him, her face the complete opposite from her purposeful walk. Roy had noticed her cheeks had turned even pinker after he spoke.

Perhaps love was too strong a word too, Roy thought, swallowing thickly. But it was the truth. He really enjoyed those stories and would love to listen to them again. They were a nice reminder of home.

They sat in silence as they listened together, the nervous and awkward air between them fizzling out as time wore on.

“I think you’d make a wonderful Elizabeth,” Roy murmured to her when the story finished.

Riza turned to look at him shyly, but there was a smile playing over her lips.

“Thank you for this, Mr. Mustang,” she replied, her voice quiet. “I really enjoyed it.”

“No, thank you,” he stressed, turning to face her properly. “I… I did too,” he added. “And I’m sorry, for eavesdropping, I didn’t mean to, I just thought your singing voice was really good and I enjoy that story a lot.”

Riza blushed. “Th – Thank you, Mr. Mustang,” she stammered.

“Roy,” he insisted.

Riza glanced at him quickly. “Okay,” she relented. “Thank you, Roy.” Her voice was stronger, and her eyes were bright. A smile spread across her face and it was different from the ones Roy had seen before. This one met her eyes and she looked happy.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai oneshot #fic request #writing prompt #emma writes

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ganjastrology · 4 years

Text

Venus in Gemini 2020 - How Ganja Babes Do Retrogrades

venus entered gemini and will be chilling with her for a while*. the first month she’ll just be doing her regular thing, but then she’ll swing backwards or *~retrograde~* around mid may for about a month and a half and that’s gonna be “interesting” . after that she does this cute thing called a shadow period where she starts going forward again and getting back to her regular business. after about a week, the gemini chapter ends and she heads into cancer.

*(entered on 4/3/20, will retro 5/13/20, go direct 6/25/20, shadow period till 7/29/2020, leaves for cancer 8/7/2020)

heres whats happening with your sun moon and rising if you’re a hot girl who smokes weed (which I know is the majority of us 💚)

aries - she’s in your 3rd house. expect some dope convos with ur squad. smoke them out. catch up on some homework together. when she retrogrades, there’s a risk of miscommunications (even tho these aren’t always necessarily bad). watch ur deadlines. u can read old texts if u want but u know the risks going in. once she starts going direct, u can clear up any friction with people, & expect some super happy random memories to resurface.☎️

taurus - she’s in your 2nd house. good time to lean into some kitchen witch stuff, smoke and try some recipes, or a new cute fitness routine. you have online shopping energy, everything looks like it was made just 4 u. honestly it is a pleasant time to treat yourself. when she retrogrades, don’t freak out but you might low key be a lil broke. thats ok bc as long as you keep a weed stash u can stay cute and comfy. when she goes direct again, money stuff will sort itself out. focus on your physical health.🛍

gemini - she’s in your 1st house. ur gonna be feelin extra cute. everything will look good on u. it’s a good time to smoke and try some looks, have a lil 80s fashion montage and stare at ur self in the mirror for a little while. when she retrogrades, things might not feel quite as cute but rest assured it all definitely is. consider revisiting some clothes you haven’t experimented with in a while. upcycle some of them into rags or other things. when she goes direct again, you’ll be leaning into an updated, more refined aesthetic. a glow up, if you will.👩‍🎤

cancer - she’s in your 12th house. time 4 naps, baths, incense, meditation, and of course, water pieces such as your bong or bubbler. there’s general desire to enjoy ur alone time. maybe if you don’t usually get to spend time with just u and ur thoughts. an opportunity 2 do so presents itself. when she retrogrades, expect some extra happy sleepy hazey vibes. be careful that other people’s vibes aren’t influencing yours too much. as a matter of fact, *watch* the vibes of those around u. be selective abt who u share ur weed with. when she goes direct again, you will be a well rested baby. your boundaries and patience may have been stretched little but u come out the other side stronger and cuter.🎏

leo - she’s in your 11th house. your social media presence is cute af, and u can be assured that u are loved by a squad. ur future is looking bright, no matter what u choose to do with your time rn. hit your bong and let yourself dream about your long term goals. its vision board time bb. when she retrogrades, you might have some temporary setbacks to one of your longer term goals try not 2 get pessimistic abt the future. your goals might change after you get some new info. when she goes direct again, your life vision is updated, its ~cuter~, if you had any messy vibes during the retro period, you bounce back and build confidence in doing so. ur doing amazing, sweety. 🔮

virgo - she’s in your 10th house. your neighbors who see u occasionally thru the windows and at the grocery store think you are soo cute. and they are correct. your life aspirations are looking super promising, and you can build up whatever life u want for yourself. when she retrogrades, you do run the risk of feeling less cute than u actually are. someone might recognize or see you when ur not feeling quite ready to be seen, but pls rest assured that you are always probably cuter than u feel. don’t let anyone hate on your dream life building process. when she goes direct again, you might be a little more ok w being seen & letting your aspirations b known. pack yourself a nice reward bowl and take a selfie.🎀

libra - she’s in your 9th house. perfect time to become pen pals with someone imo, u know you’ve got cute handwriting. bless your school supplies w ganj smoke. stuffs starting to really “click;” whatever you’ve been studying is getting a new *~look~*. consider getting a cute new journal. when she retrogrades remember to check on your school work, and any adventure plans u may have had. u might experience some mental roadblocks which lead you to new way of seeing something. when she goes direct your perspective on your life will be different; good different. take a nice long stoned walk with a cute mask on.📬

scorpio - she’s in your 8th house. we both know it’s time for a closet purge. Get rid of whatever isn’t working anymore. clean ur sex toys. have some edibles and update your collection of nudes. when she retrogrades, u may find yourself missing ur old things but that’s ok, things change. u might start feeling hyper critical of ur nudes but remember that you are still that bitch. when she goes direct, you, friend, are on the verge of a total aesthetic rebuilding. a change from the inside begins to show itself on the outside. your confident sexy energy has returned.📀

sagittarius - she’s in your 7th house. ur collabin’ on projects with ur friends, ur doin the zoom coffee dates, ur smokin out the squad, u already know everyone loves u. when she retrogrades, an old life character returns, maybe someone who hasn’t crossed your mind in a long time. someone whose dms you slid into out of boredom might reach out to you. are these good things? idk bb follow ur heart! when she goes direct, u might b letting someone go, or sweetly reconnecting with someone, probs a little bit of both both. someone’s place in your life is getting a lil bit of a downgrade and making room for someone else’s upgrade. it’s a different vibe but u make it work.🤹‍♀️

capricorn - she’s in your 6th house. as we already know, you have been organized, meals have been prepped, groceries are shopped, you are rolling with things. if you haven’t already, now is a super cute time to start, or revisit a bullet journal for even more cute daily brain organization. sometimes i like to smoke and try out different layouts and i think u would too. when she retrogrades, any existing routines you’ve created for urself might get a little disrupted and have to change a little (this could apply to school, work, whoever you live with, anything day 2 day). rest assured that no matter what you will be able to keep things cute. when she goes direct again, you life’s order should b restoring itself, and any errands you’ve been behind on will be caught up so dont even worry. breathe&take a hit.🎸

aquarius - she’s in your 5th house. creative projects you’ve got going on are about to go swimmingly. ur lil brain is probably just bursting with dope ideas and i am proud of u. this is a very sexy time period, perfect for spending time experimenting with edibles. when she retrogrades, you might feel a little bit of insecurity regarding your creative endeavors, maybe just a lil loss of confidence for whatever reason. consider looking back thru your old stuff, old art pieces, old music you’ve made, anything you started or finished, and I bet its actually pretty dope and cool. when she goes direct again, you can expect to be finishing a project up and maybe even have a cooler one lined up who knows. some of that natural aquarian confidence will come back, much to ur loved one’s delight.🎈

pisces - she’s in your 4th house. try to reconnect with your family of choice. even just a casual text. ur inner child will feel pretty content and chill. being at home will feel extra cozy and nice. hit your bong whilst wrapped in a blanket and watch a cartoon. when she retrogrades there might be some fam drama, even if it doesn’t necessarily revolve around u. you might something find offsetting your comfort zone or challenging some of ur boundaries. remember not to let anyone mess with u bb. when she goes direct again, expect some healing within your fam unit. Some nice happy memories return will come to your mind’s forefront.🧸

hope ur high right now bb sweet dreams♊️💕🌿🌸🌺🍣♊️

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

Text

Trust (Rated NC17)

Summary: After close to a decade of not seeing one another, a box shows up at Aziraphale's bookshop, its contents a reminder of emotional wounds ...

... and a cry for help. (4931 words)

Notes: So yeah, apparently I lied when I said I was finished writing au's based off of @whiteleyfoster's 'Prince of Omens'. This idea hit me quite out of the blue, that by creating the Prince of Omens au, it sort of altered the timeline of the original story, which then led me to imagine filling in the gaps of history with stories starring this version of the characters. This takes place, I would say, sometime between the Blitz and the 60s, which may have fed into some of the decisions taken place by the characters between that time. Plus, I thought it was a very romantic, touching, and hot moment for the two of them, being sniffed out by Hell. Anyway, let me know what you all think <3

Read on AO3.

Please say you trust me.

Those are the only words written on the gold card tucked inside the box that shows up at Aziraphale’s bookshop on Thursday afternoon, packed alongside a few other choice items: a white blindfold, a pair of golden handcuffs, and a hotel room key. There’s no return address on the box, no name on the card, only the initials AJC.

But Aziraphale didn’t need those.

He knew.

Before he opened the box and saw its contents, he knew who’d sent it.

He could sense Crowley’s magical signature all over it.

Aziraphale examines the contents for a long while, his heart pounding in his chest. They’re not a random collection of offerings. Aside from how Crowley means them, each one is symbolic.

The white blindfold harks back to the ribbon that has become so sacred to Crowley - the one Aziraphale tied around the plant he gave the demon back in Egypt.

The meaning behind the cuffs comes from around that same time.

Standing on the banks of the Red Sea, watching Moses tend to his flock of the faithful as they readied themselves for the journey on, Crowley had gazed across the water in the direction they’d come, the bitterest, sweetest expression of sorrow on his handsome face.

“What is it, my dear?” Aziraphale had asked. “Why do you seem so melancholy? All’s well that ends well, don’t you think?”

“How is it,” he’d said, staring at the water, unable to look Aziraphale in the eye, “that I can continue to be such a tremendous failure?”

“How can you say that!? None of these people would have been able to escape Pharaoh if not for you! You’re a hero!”

“But just as many lost their lives because of me! Because I was too arrogant to be specific with my instructions! But that’s just who I am … what I do …”

“No, my dear …” Aziraphale put a hand on his arm “… that’s not true at all. Stop saying that … please …”

Crowley turned to Aziraphale but with eyes shut, unable to take his kindness, accept his sympathy.

“It’s humbling. They showered me with riches, built me a temple. I’d planted myself as a God among them so I could stir up a little mischief, but they tempted me. And like an idiot, I fell for it.” Crowley shook his head. “To be brought to my knees, have that torn away … it makes me realize what I really am. What I’ve been all along.”

“Lesson learned then,” Aziraphale said. Crowley’s eyes snapped open, heartbreak dulling their shimmering gold depths. “Because you are what you should be. And that’s free.”

Crowley’s brow furrowed. “W-what do you mean?”

“The temple, those clothes, the gold - they had strings attached. They kept you beholden to Pharaoh. Turned you into a slave.” Aziraphale shifted Crowley’s gaze away from the water and aimed it towards the land, to the people gathered there. “By doing what you did, helping these people, enduring, suffering … you’re not a slave anymore. Not to Pharaoh. You’re free.”

Aziraphale recalls those words, the smile they’d brought to Crowley’s face, the embrace that followed, the dozen kisses and more … and he frowns.

Because where it’s true that Crowley freed himself from Egypt, he’s still a servant.

As is Aziraphale.

They’re both in the same boat - conscripted to a higher power that commands their moves, often using them as pawns.

Or worse.

As toys.

And they play with them the way spoiled children do.

Roughly.

If they break, Heaven and Hell will consign them to the bottom of the toy box and find new angels and demons to replace them.

Aziraphale has a sinking suspicion that’s part of what’s going on now - Hell commanding its servant, holding his feet to the fire. But to do what, Aziraphale hasn’t a clue.

The words written on the card are a linchpin.

Please say you trust me.

Aziraphale had said something similar to Crowley when they’d made love in his temple and he’d used his precious white ribbon on him as a blindfold.

Crowley repeated the sentiment back to him when God sent Death to reap the first born. Death would have reaped Crowley, too, if not for Aziraphale. Crowley promised he would try to save the innocent but that Aziraphale needed to have faith in him.

Aziraphale said - “Always, my dear.”

Faith.

Trust.

Aziraphale and Crowley had known one another for 2500 years by the time they met up in Egypt, but it was during that time that Aziraphale truly learned to trust Crowley. Crowley had been gifted Aziraphale’s trust during the years they spent watching over Moses. He lost it, but earned it back in spades. Since then, he’s run to Aziraphale’s rescue time and time again, saving him from beheadings, bombings …

… re-assignment.

And despite this cloak-and-dagger, Aziraphale trusts Crowley now.

Aziraphale didn’t know Crowley was in town. They hadn’t seen one another in close to a decade. Aziraphale knew Crowley would turn up one of these days, but not like this.

He holds out hope the objects in the box are for pleasure, but he’s sure they’re for business. Trust or no, that makes him nervous. He doesn’t like not knowing what’s in store for him. The real torture will be in waiting, guessing.

But, luckily, not too long.

Aziraphale finds out the following night.

He had no idea when Crowley would call for him. He’d hoped Crowley would come for him himself - show up on his doorstep in a smart black suit, all seductive secrets and sly smiles.

A car comes for him instead, driven by a human chauffeur.

A block away from the hotel, he senses them.

Demons.

Lots of them.

Lurking around corners, hiding in the shadows, ducking out of sight.

Watching him arrive.

Even on this main thoroughfare bustling with people, there are more demons around than he’s ever felt in a single place.

His body goes cold.

“Long night?” Aziraphale asks the driver, making small talk to keep his mind off of whatever’s waiting for him ahead. It feels like a trap, every molecule of his celestial form screaming at him to get out of the car and run, that he’s been betrayed. But he can’t think like that. Crowley wouldn’t put him in harm’s way.

He has to believe heart and soul he wouldn’t.

Especially not after that note.

Please say you trust me.

“You could say that.”

“Where are you headed after this, my dear?”

“I’ve been hired on for the night by the blokes who hired me to get you,” the man says, peeking at Aziraphale through the rear view. “Good thing, too. Heaven knows I need the money.”

“Hard times, hmm?”

“It’s my daughter Liza,” the man says with a lump in his throat. “She’s come down sick. The doctors here don’t know what to do for her. We’re hoping to take her to the states. We’ve heard there are doctors there that can help her.”

“I see.” Aziraphale scans the streets around them. Something doesn’t feel right (on top of everything else that already doesn’t feel right). Evil clings to this man, though, in his heart, he is good.

It’s not him, Aziraphale discovers as he reaches out with his angelic senses. It’s the company he keeps. He’s been hired by demons. Not Crowley but others. They’ve promised him a great deal of money to be their errand boy - escort prostitutes around the city and deliver some dangerous packages to some powerful people.

But they have no intention of paying him.

Because he will not survive the night.

He’s disposable. A nobody in the grand scheme. That’s why they hired him. That’s what the demons are counting on - cruel since demons can masquerade as humans and do their own dirty work.

But it’s loads more fun to trick some unsuspecting mortal to do it for them.

In the end, after he’s taken part in some shady deals (unbeknownst to him) they’ll have his soul for Hell. It’s a demonic loophole. (They have enough lawyers to ensure them it’s sound.) And even though Aziraphale wants to maintain a low profile, he can’t let this happen.

The chauffeur pulls up to the curb in front of The Savoy and puts his car into park.

“Here we are,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Aziraphale. “Do you need help up to your room or …?”

“Not at all, young man.” Aziraphale reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rolled-up wad of notes bound together by a rubber band. The driver waits patiently for Aziraphale to count out his tip. His eyes blow wide when Aziraphale hands him the entire thing.

“I … are you serious, sir?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says with a smile. “For a job well done. Best ride I’ve had in ages.”

“I … I can’t accept this!” the man says, an expression of pain passing over his face as a voice in his head - probably his wife’s - screams, ‘Yes, you can, you idiot! Don’t argue!’ “I only drove you twelve city blocks!”

“You can accept it, and you will.” Aziraphale snaps his fingers, using a little angelic magic to cease any more arguing. “And now you’re going to drive straight home, pack your family up, and head to the airport. Get on board TWA flight 530 to Los Angeles, and get your daughter well.”

A second snap of his fingers sees to that. Liza will greet her father at the door to their humble flat completely cancer free. But Aziraphale needs to get him and his family out of town. He knows what will happen when the demons discover this man has skipped out on his duties.

Needless to say, they won’t be happy.

“Thank you, sir! I … I don’t know how I could ever re-pay you!”

“I do. Forget you ever saw me. And forget the men who hired you.” Aziraphale snaps one last time, gets out of the car, and heads for the front door. He pauses when he hears the car pull away from the curb, watching it drive off into the night. If a demon ever does manage to catch up with him, they should be able to tell that his mind has been wiped by an angel. That and the fact that he’s blessed should keep them off his back.

Aziraphale shows his key to the doorman, who directs him to the room he needs. He declines any more offers of help and continues on alone.

For a Friday night, it’s pretty mellow at The Savoy. Most everyone is out on the town, living it up. Which means no one notices the middle-aged man in the cream-colored coat slip down the hallway and take the elevator to the top floor.

No one will notice if he disappears.

He starts out with shoulders squared and head held high, carrying the box Crowley sent him tucked under one arm. But as he walks down the quiet hall, the demonic smell growing stronger and more pungent with every step, the box creeps out from underneath his arm to his chest where he hugs it close.

He stops in front of the door and fits the key in the lock, his hands shaking as he does. He breathes out slowly, counts to three. He hasn’t even unlocked the door but he feels him on the other side.

Crowley.

In this room.

Waiting for him.

Crowley summoned him here and now Aziraphale is about to turn himself over to him.

Him and about a dozen other demons.

His heart double-thumps with excitement.

His head swims with fear.

He unlocks the door, pushes it open.

It opens unto darkness.

“Hello?” he calls inside, reluctant to take a step in but he knows he must.

Please say you trust me.

Those words ring in his ears. They aren’t simple words, not easy. They have weight to them, a history.

They’re a plea.

It’s not until he closes the door behind him that he notices Crowley’s silhouette standing beside the foot of a large bed over by the window.

The door locks behind him without him touching it.

It’s more than a bit unsettling.

Aziraphale walks over to the bed and sets the box down .

“Crowley?” he says, waiting for the demon to acknowledge his arrival in any way. Aziraphale wants to rush into his arms, kiss him on the mouth, whisper words of love against his skin.

But a voice in his mind tells him this isn’t the time for that.

It’s ridiculous. He knows he’s in very real danger of being discorporated but he can’t help noticing … Crowley looks stunning. He’s been growing his hair out. It’s not long yet, but it’s not short either. It’s just long enough for Aziraphale to run his fingers through, wind the strands around and pull him close. He’s dressed for bed - barefoot, black pajama pants, and shirtless, the planes of his chest and his flat stomach on enticing display. Even his scar - that horrible scar from Aziraphale’s flaming sword - looks delicious in this low light.

Positively kissable.

And he’s not wearing his glasses. Not hiding his eyes.

Though he’s never had to hide his eyes from Aziraphale.

Crowley doesn’t look at Aziraphale as the angel inches closer, eyes searching his face for an explanation. Aziraphale gets within touching distance, but Crowley takes a step away.

“Take off your clothes,” he commands.

“Wh-what?”

“What’s wrong, principality? Did I stutter?”

“No,” Aziraphale says, fighting to maintain a composure that’s a feather’s touch away from shattering like a plate glass window, “you didn’t. But I …”

“Then be a good little angel and obey. Maybe you haven’t noticed but you’re not the one in control. You have no power here.”

Snickers travel around the room and from the strangest of locations: in a closet, under the bed, on the ceiling. Aziraphale doesn’t look up to check. If there is a demon hanging from the chandelier above him, he’d rather not see it with his own eyes.

Stunned into silence like Crowley slapped him in the face, Aziraphale slips off his coat and lays it on the bed, then reaches for his shirt. With every button he undoes, his mind reels, searching for a solution. From the smell of this place, there are demons everywhere - in the room, in the hallway, on the street outside. So running is not an option. He could miracle his way out, but that would cause a paper trail he’d have to explain to Gabriel, which would lead to three possible outcomes: one - Gabriel reprimands Aziraphale for the use of a frivolous miracle (because, apparently, saving himself is considered frivolous); two - this incident starts a battle with Hell, which may not end well for Earth as a whole; or three - Gabriel presses Hell for answers and Hell offers up Crowley as a sacrifice.

Aziraphale can’t risk hurting Crowley any more than he could risk hurting Earth. Plus, that would leave Crowley at the mercy of Hell since his mission would have failed.

Aziraphale has no choice but to play along and hope that an explanation comes to light.

He’ll keep you safe. He won’t hurt you. He’ll explain this to you. Trust him.

“Everything,” Crowley says when Aziraphale stops at his pants, his voice undeniably softer when he says, “I want to see everything.”

That softness, more than anything, encourages Aziraphale on.

When Aziraphale has completely undressed, Crowley approaches. His eyes - a serpent’s eyes from rim to rim where they’d normally appear a bit more human - are uncharacteristically unforgiving, but Aziraphale doesn’t miss the subtle once over Crowley gives him, how it causes him to miss a step.

Crowley reaches out a hand. Aziraphale thinks he’s reaching for him, his body starving for his touch. For a second, Crowley seems to consider it. But he grabs the box instead. He opens it, exposing its contents. He reaches inside and pulls out the golden handcuffs. He grabs Aziraphale’s wrists, locking them in front of him.

“C-Crowley? What’s going on?” Aziraphale asks, starting to get nervous, the other demons in the room an ominous presence even though he doesn’t see them. “You’re going a bit fast for me.”

Crowley leads Aziraphale to the bed, maneuvers him like a dog on a leash by the chain of those handcuffs, has him climb up on it and kneel on the mattress. Then he takes Aziraphale by the chin and stares deep into his eyes. “Pay attention, principality, because I won’t tell you again.” Crowley starts to speak, posturing on about how Aziraphale is his prisoner, how he’s there to serve him, please him, bend to his whims. Aziraphale hears him, his words playing in the corner of his mind like a scratchy record on an ancient gramophone, warped and skipping, out of tune.

But what he hears louder than that are the words Crowley projects to the forefront of his brain.

Words that tremble, steeped in fear.

‘I need your help, angel. Please? Do what I say? They’re watching.’

Aziraphale sees Crowley gulp, feels his own throat ache with the bob of his Adam’s apple.

Crowley’s power is fueled by his imagination. That’s one of the things that makes him unique among demons. Aziraphale and Crowley had discovered long ago that he can make Aziraphale hear whatever he wants him to hear, even over long distances.

He’s using that power now to communicate with him.

‘I know you feel them. I can’t explain but I promise, I won’t let them hurt you. I swear it.’

Crowley takes the blindfold out of the box and starts tying it over Aziraphale’s eyes.

‘I … I don’t understand, Crowley,’ Aziraphale thinks, knowing Crowley will hear.

‘I’ll explain later but please … please say you trust me.’

Aziraphale nods. ‘Always, my dear.’

‘And no matter what I say … know that I love you.’

‘I do.’

Crowley knots the blindfold twice - once to secure it, a second time to stall, giving him a moment to gather the courage he needs to say what’s coming next.

‘I need to compel your wings. They want to see them. They want to see me … force you to reveal them.’

Aziraphale shudders, memories of having his wings ripped into existence by other demons flooding his thoughts.

Crowley sees. His hands ball into fists.

Having one’s wings compelled can be an uncomfortable, even painful business.

It’s also the ultimate humiliation.

But for Crowley, Aziraphale would do practically anything.

‘Of course. Just … be careful.’

‘I will,” Crowley promises, his voice thick with curses and a deep hatred of himself that Aziraphale can’t help but feel. He wishes he could put a comforting hand on his shoulder and give him strength.

With any luck, there will be time for that later.

Aziraphale breathes in deep, trying to relax when he sees Crowley raise a hand. Aziraphale closes his eyes, surrenders control of his wings to Crowley, telling himself it will be okay.

He’s with Crowley. His Crowley. The Crowley he’s known and loved for thousands of years. They’ll get past this hurdle, attack the next.

They’ll get through this together.

The pinch in his shoulder blades feels all too familiar and almost sends him into a panic. He recedes deeper into himself, reminds himself of better times he’s had with Crowley in bed. The room goes silent, the demons observing on the edge of their seats, captivated by the events unfolding in front of them. In the midst of that silence, Aziraphale can hear his own heartbeat.

Immediately following, he hears Crowley’s.

Then their breathing mixed together, the mingling of it bringing a wash of calm to Aziraphale’s mind. A blue glow builds beneath his skin, filling the room, casting eerie shadows of the hiding demons across the floor.

Then his wings begin to appear.

With his eyes closed behind the blindfold, Aziraphale doesn’t see the glow, can’t notice the demons. He feels the heat of Crowley’s power sink into his skin, spiral through his body, coaxing his wings out of hiding with the caress of hands born of fire.

Aziraphale gasps when his wings break free and unfurl, a completion in its own right.

An intensely intimate, highly erotic experience.

Aziraphale stretches his wings when Crowley relinquishes control of them. It is part of the dress code for angels on Earth to keep them hidden, but he feels comforted by them. They soothe him, give him a sense of security.

‘Aziraphale …’

Crowley’s voice pierces its way through Aziraphale’s calm. It’s both welcome and a harsh reminder that this isn’t the end of their ordeal. There’s more to come.

‘Yes?’

‘I need to … umm …’

‘Just tell me, my dear. I’ll do whatever it takes to get us out of this.’

Crowley hems and haws, but he can’t find the strength to say. ‘They’ll want it to look like I’m forcing you.’

‘Do what you must.’

Aziraphale could very well choose to see through the blindfold but he decides not to. He stays in the moment with Crowley, let’s the suspense of his next move well up within him, give the demons in the dark the smell of his anticipation to feast on while they mistake it for fear.

He hears a rustle of fabric, feels Crowley’s hand on his head, a whimper rising from the demon’s throat.

He doesn’t want to do this. Aziraphale knows he doesn’t want to do this.

Crowley pushes down, dragging Aziraphale’s head to his crotch. Aziraphale pretends to struggle. But when he feels the head of Crowley’s cock nudge his lips, he forgets to protest, forgets that they’re in anything even close to danger.

Because he loves Crowley. Crowley loves him.

And it’s been too long since they’ve had one another.

Aziraphale opens his mouth and slowly, ever so slowly, slides down over him, licking along the way, the way he knows Crowley likes, doing his part to remind him that they’re in this together, that he’s with him whatever it takes.

Crowley threads trembling fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, bites his tongue to keep from moaning Aziraphale’s name. He thrusts up with his hips, pushes down lightly, his body begging with every twitch for Aziraphale to go faster.

For him to get this over with, put him out of his misery.

Because Crowley has dreamt of this - just this - since the last time they saw one another.

It’s cruel that he should get it now in front of prying eyes.

He rises to his knees, putting his hands on Aziraphale’s head and taking over, assaulting his mouth shallowly, trying to make it appear to the eyes around him that he’s fucking his mouth, violating him, hurting him. He doesn’t do this to his angel. He’s never done this to him. He wouldn’t.

But it’d be too easy.

It feels too good.

Not just the physical sensation of Aziraphale’s mouth around him, but the pushing him.

The forcing him.

The demon inside him rises up with each thrust, whispers in his ears to snap his hips harder, push in farther, hold Aziraphale’s head flush against him till tears leak from his eyes with the strain of his corporal form holding its breath.

But he can’t do that, he repeats to himself. He won’t do that. He won’t give in.

He won’t become like the owners of those coal black eyes watching them.

“Stop,” Crowley mumbles, mostly to himself, slipping out of Aziraphale’s mouth, regretting it the moment the cool air touches his skin. “That’s not how I want to finish. Hands and knees. Now, angel!”

‘Tell me to stop,’ he projects, ‘then beg me not to. Really sell it.’

“You … you can’t do this!” Aziraphale scrambles to obey, rolling onto his hands and knees. And even though this is fake, his nerves scatter, wondering about the origin of the edge in Crowley’s voice.

The fiery yellow simmer in his eyes, the one he’d glimpsed before the blindfold.

“Please, Crowley! I … I’m begging you! Don’t …”

“Sorry, angel. I want this too much. I need this too much.”

Crowley doesn’t give Aziraphale time to get comfortable. He grabs him, shoves his face to the sheets, spreads his cheeks apart, lines his cock with the angel’s entrance, and pushes in. Pushes hard.

It doesn’t hurt, but Aziraphale cries out.

Crowley curls black painted nails into the soft skin of Aziraphale’s hips, leaving bruises that rival the scars on his back. But even through this facade of violence, Aziraphale feels Crowley’s love. He still tries to make this good for Aziraphale. Crowley leans forward, presses the odd kiss against his skin, plays with speed and angles, searching out new spots that will make Aziraphale’s eyes roll, his back arch and his toes curl, make him moan louder despite himself. The thought that others are watching should make Aziraphale burn with embarrassment but he doesn’t care.

It’s been so long.

And he’s missed Crowley so much.

“No …” Aziraphale whispers, the fight fading from his voice. “Don’t … stop … d-don’t stop …”

“I claim you, angel,” Crowley growls. “Soon you’ll feel my fire inside of you. From this day forward, you can never escape me. I’ll be able to find you from here to the ends of the Earth. You’re mine. You belong to me.”

“Oh …” Aziraphale squeaks. Crowley’s words sound rehearsed but they feel real.

Like a vow.

“Yes,” Aziraphale moans beyond improvisation. “Yes, I … I belong to you. Claim me, demon …” he continues, his voice dissolving into gasps. “Claim me … I’m yours …”

Crowley shudders at those words.

‘Oh, Aziraphale.’

‘Crowley …’

‘I love you …’

‘I love you, too.’

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighs. “Oh Go---”

Crowley grabs a handful of Aziraphale’s hair, pulls his head back and crashes their mouths together before he can finish. “She’s not here right now,” he says, his voice heavy with anger and regret. “Your words belong to me, angel. Your moans, your whimpers, they’re mine. Say it!”

“They’re … they’re yours. All yours. I …”

Crowley cuts him off with a kiss, his body shaking as he comes inside his angel. Aziraphale follows, his knees giving out, sliding out from under him. He lands on his belly with Crowley on top of him.

His favorite position to be in, all things considered.

Through his orgasmic haze and the utter joy of coming in Crowley’s arms, he hears a mass of uncomfortable whispering, some sinister laughter, and one derisive snort.

Aziraphale feels the demons retreat, slide into the shadows, evaporating into the black.

“They’re … they’re satisfied,” Crowley pants, the relief in his voice seeping through Aziraphale’s skin and winding around his heart. “They’re going back to Hell. Hastur isn’t happy about it but they … they won’t hurt us.”

Hastur.

Aziraphale’s breath hitches.

Hastur was there.

A Duke of Hell.

Aziraphale had convinced himself that the demons in the room were minions. Underlings. He had no reason to believe that, really. No proof. It’s simply something he assumed.

But Hastur?

Who else had been there? Who else had watched?

Beelzebub maybe?

Will they report to Satan?

To the Archangels!?

Aziraphale knows that some of the higher demons do.

Will Michael find out? Uriel?

Will Gabriel?

Too soon, the warm glow of satiation, of being wrapped in Crowley’s arms again, his cock buried inside his body, siphons into the chill around them.

“I … I don’t want to stay here,” Aziraphale says, starting to shiver.

“Neither do I.” Crowley unfurls his own wings. He curls them around Aziraphale, wrapping them both up tight. Then, with a snap of his fingers, angel and demon disappear.

***

“It was a test,” Crowley explains, lying side by side with his angel in a different bed, a different room, grooming Aziraphale’s wings with careful fingers. “I wasn’t performing up to par for Hastur. I failed my performance review.” He chuckles. “First time in history. So I had to come up with something big. Something that would get them off my back for a few centuries.” From behind, arms wrapped around him, his chest pressed to Aziraphale’s back, Aziraphale feels Crowley swallow hard. “Hastur was adamant it was your fault. My associations with you, no matter how few and far between, were making me soft. They were planning on coming after you to get to me. I had to do something to get us both off their radar. Corrupting an angel …” Another hard swallow “… was the worst thing I could think of.”

Aziraphale smirks. “Little do they know I corrupted you a long time ago, my dear.”

“It was selfish, a-and it was wrong,” Crowley stumbles. “And I’m …”

Aziraphale tilts his head back, kisses Crowley gently on the lips. “I didn’t despise it, my love. I quite like role-playing with you. Maybe, someday, we could do it again. When it’s just you and me.”

“I didn’t want to turn you into a spectacle,” Crowley says, refusing to let Aziraphale absolve him so easily. “That wasn’t my intention. I didn’t want to humiliate you. I just … I didn’t know what else to do. I …”

Aziraphale kisses Crowley again when he feels tears roll down his cheeks that aren’t his own.

“You kept me safe,” Aziraphale whispers. “The way you promised. And I’m not going to lose you. We won’t lose each other. It was worth it.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #prince of omens #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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certain-as-the-sun · 4 years

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Hey Jealousy

A High School-is AU. Inspired by the Gin Blossoms’ song of the same name. Contains: Alcohol Abuse, miscarriage, unwanted sexual touching.

Hey Jealousy

Tell me do you think it'd be all right If I could just crash here tonight You can see I'm in no shape for driving And anyway I've got no place to go And you know it might not be that bad You were the best I'd ever had If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago I might not be alone

It was a rainy night. Belle sat in her father’s house on the edge of town, far enough away that she got the peace and quiet she craved, but still close enough that running errands into town wouldn’t take all day. She sat in her favorite chair, a hot mug of tea steaming beside her. Her bookcase gleamed in the firelight, beckoning her to choose from her vast collection. Tonight was a night she didn’t want to dwell on. Five years ago her whole world changed. Her first love had been lost to her. Her true love if she still believed in fairy tales. They had been so good together. They had their lives figured out. She would finish school, open her bookshop and live happily ever after. Fate it seemed, was not as kind. The accident wasn’t Adam’s fault. He knew that, but it didn’t stop people from talking. Small town like theirs, it didn’t take long for word to spread about the group of teenage boys who took a joy ride that left one dead.

Adam never could hold his alcohol. He tried so many times to quit. Rehab, counseling. Through it all, there had been Belle. She was the one constant in his ever changing life. He was trying. He was trying to be who he needed to be, who Belle needed him to be. But there are some demons that are just too hard to get rid of. Orphaned at ten, bounced around from home to home. He was an angry young man, a temper that could explode at the smallest of things. He starting drinking at a young age, stealing what he could from his less than desirable foster parents. He fell in with the wild crowd. The kind of boys who stole cars, drank, partied hard. It landed him in a group home for at-risk boys.

He was adopted at sixteen by an older gay couple. Cogsworth and Lumiere could not have been more opposite in their manners and appearance. Cogsworth was portly and fussy. Lumiere was flamboyant and loud. Between them, they showered Adam with the love and acceptance he had so desperately needed. They got him into AA, helped him find a good sponsor, someone Adam could always call when and if he needed to talk to someone other than his dads. Hatter whose real name Adam never knew, had been a foster kid too, adopted as an older teen. Hatter understood the pressure Adam felt, the loneliness that came from a life spent apart. Between the three men loving Adam he was able to stay clean for over a year.

Belle was an only child to a widowed clockmaker. She was an honor student, on the fast track to the Ivy League. They met when Cogsworth signed Adam up for an English tutor. Cogsworth valued education and wanted Adam to improve so he could attend college and make something of himself. At first Adam and Belle wanted nothing to do with each other. He didn’t think he needed a tutor and not one as attractive as Belle was. His teenage brain envisioned her as the naughty librarian he had seen in dirty magazines. Acting on horrid advice from his friends, he was rude and demeaning. His efforts were rewarded with a slap and disgust. At home that evening, he sought out better advice. Cogsworth told the boy to write her an apology. Lumiere told him to bring her a rose. Hatter, the straight man in his life agreed that Adam had treated Belle poorly, asked him what he was going to do about it. Adam had to do better.

And better he did. He apologized, profusely. Belle wasn’t sure she could trust him. She knew who he hung around with. But they started spending time together. Little by little the real Adam shone through. Behind the tough as nails exterior he showed the world, he allowed Belle to see him. He could very kind to those in need. He organized toy drives for foster kids. Once at the store when the cloud let loose a deluge of water, he offered to pull her car up for an elderly woman so she wouldn’t get drenched to the bone.

He still had his temper. If his temper got the better of him, Belle wouldn’t stand for it. More times she left him where he was standing when he was losing it. He’d never hurt her but she wouldn’t take that chance. He scared her badly one night. They had been in his room and she had accidentally knocked over a framed photograph. The glass broke and damaged the photo. He roared with anger and before he realized what was happening he had tossed everything from his desk and slammed his fist into the wall. She ran from the room. In his angered haze, he heard her cries from the living room. He stopped thrashing and stepped into the hall. She was still there. Seated on the couch, his dads on either side of her. Cogsworth shook his head at his son.

Anger management with Hatter came next. He never wanted to see anyone he cared about be subject to his temper. He wrote Belle a letter, even mailed it. He never knew if she read it but she did forgive him.

The day of the accident started bad. His anniversary of sobriety was coming up. He would be two years clean. A milestone for any addict. It was little things piling up to big things. A memory of his parents, long gone from his life. A bad grade on a test he and Belle had studied so hard for. An argument between Adam and Cogsworth about grades and school. A misunderstanding between Lumiere. The anger simmered to a full boil. A temper flare from Adam had him storming out of the house. Deep in the back of his mind he knew what he had to do. He needed to call Hatter. Get his head on straight.

He could call Belle. But she was busy. She had an interview in the morning. An interview that could make or break her college plans. She didn’t need him distracting her. Maybe she would let him just sleep in her bed while she prepared. If he was with her, he could calm down and be able to go home and apologize. If he was with her he wouldn’t be able to do something stupid. Pausing over her contact, a text popped up.

Pre-game with boys. Don’t be a wuss.

He had been ducking texts like these for weeks. Gaston was from his old life. A life he didn’t want anymore. Gaston had been his best friend once upon a time. Before his dads. Before Hatter. Before Belle. Adam dropped Gaston soon after he began seeing Belle near constantly. Belle hated Gaston. She found his crass and chauvinistic behavior revolting. Rumor has it he had three kids with three different girls.

When he and Belle first started dating, he took her to a party that Gaston was throwing. He had taken over his parents cabin in the woods. Everyone from school was there, even people from other schools that had heard about the bash in the woods. Cars lined the dirt road leading up to the cabin. You could hear the party before you saw it. Belle, to put it plainly was not a party girl. Her idea of a Friday night was spent at the small bookstore on Main Street, browsing and putting books on layaway. Mrs. Potts, the owner kept a log of Belle’s books and would sometimes write off a few when she needed to. Belle was happiest when she and Adam had dinner together at the cafe next door to the bookstore and just took a walk in the park. But she agreed. Adam had been doing so well and she thought it was only fair that she share in his world when he spent so much time in hers.

Gaston saw them first. The feeling between Gaston and Belle was mutual. He blamed her for changing Adam from the guy he was to the guy he is. Behind her back he called her a bitch, a nag, killjoy. The tall, broad teenager with coal black hair strode up to them as they entered the house, a bottle of beer in his hand. He snapped his fingers at Kevin to get Adam a drink. He saw red when Belle took Adam’s hand and shook her head when the small portly boy offered them both bottles. He was going to take her down a peg or two.

It took some time but he finally got Adam and Belle separated. She had gotten tree sap on her hand when they had gone outside. She was expecting Adam to be waiting for her outside the bathroom when she came back out from washing her hands. But he wasn’t. He had gotten pulled into a conversation with Gaston’s latest blonde. She started towards him when Gaston got in her path.

“Never thought little miss perfect would grace us with her presence,” Gaston taunted. “Thought you were too good to hang out with the likes of us.” He leaned closer to her, pushing her back against the wall. “Not sure what my boy Adam sees in a frigid bitch like you.”

His breath reeked of stale beer, corn ships and tobacco. He ran his hand over her bare shoulder, she had lost her sweater somewhere. She tried to move out Gaston’s way but he caged her. “Gaston, please. Just leave us alone.”

“I want to know what kind of spell you got my boy under,” he said, his hand moving its way down her body, over her. Tears stung her eyes. Where was Adam? “Maybe if I get a taste, I might understand.”

“Stop it, please.”

Across the room Adam caught sight of his girlfriend. He pushed through the crowd of drinking people. Gaston had Belle pressed against the wall, his hands on her. Without thinking he charged at Gaston shoving him away from Belle.

“Get away from her!” Adam all but growled. He kept himself between Belle and Gaston, his fists balled. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“She came on to me man!” Gaston argued. “I told you. I warned you about her. She’s a bitch. You’re better off without her.”

“Adam let’s just go,” Belle said, putting her hand on his arm. “He’s not worth it. Let’s just go.”

“Shut up, you stupid —“ Gaston didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Adam swung his fist forward and knocked his former best friend square in his jaw.

“You will not speak to my girlfriend like that ever again,” Adam said. He took Belle’s hand and they left. Alone in her car he held her close as she cried. No one had ever touched her like that before. Not even Adam. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’d never come if I thought that’s what he’d do. Please, I’m so sorry.”

Staring at the text, it was a siren’s call. If he was honest with himself, he did miss his friend. Hanging with he boys would be the easy choice. It would be so easy to just fall into a stupor with the boys. He wouldn’t have to think about anything else. Not school, not his dads, not even Hatter. He knew what he needed to do. The siren call was stronger. He wanted to go. He wanted to fall into oblivion. He could fall for one night and when the dust settled he would start over. That was the life an addict. He knew what he needed to do and did what he wanted. He made the easy choice.

Where you at? Three words. That’s all it took to ruin his life. Three words.

The ravine. And don’t bring that bitch.

Don’t call her that.

Three hours later Adam had fallen off the wagon hard. He had drunk two bottles of Stoli, his hard liquor of choice and finished off a six pack of a cheap beer Stanley brought. Once he started Adam couldn’t stop. He couldn't have just one drink. He would keep going until he couldn’t see straight. When Adam polished off what they others had brought they went to get more. Driving a town over and with Stanley’s fake ID and Cogsworth’s credit card, the boys loaded up with more. Two more bottles of Stoli down and Adam was drunker than he had been in his life.

Neither Adam or Gaston had any business driving. The only sober one among the boys that night was Kevin also known as LeFou. Kevin was Gaston’s lackey. The small, overweight, nerdy boy just wanted to be popular. He did Gaston’s homework, really anything Gaston wanted. He was in the backseat with Adam that night. Gaston sped down the road, the radio screaming profanity laced rock. Reckless and stupid. Empty bottles rolled around the back of the car. They were invincible. On top of the world. Until they weren’t.

No one was sure as to the exact nature of the accident that left one dead, two severely injured and one with minor cuts and scrapes. Kevin, the sweet boy who just wanted to belong was dead. Stanley walked away. Gaston had severe brain damage and would likely require twenty-four/seven care for the rest of his life. Adam broke his right collarbone, the three bones in his right arm, the femur of his right leg and had broken glass embedded in his face. Scars he would bear for the rest of his life.

Belle, Hatter and his dads sat constant vigil by his side while he recovered from surgery. His handsome face distorted and scarred from the accident. Mixed emotions filled Belle. Anger, betrayal, hurt, sadness. How could he do this? Interview or not, he could have called her. Should have called her. In fact, he had called her. Several times. The first time she answered. She heard the shouts and loud music in the background. In his slurred speech he told her how much he loved her and how he was sorry. She begged him to tell her where he was. She would come get him and take him home. Get him to Hatter and his dads. Get him sober again. He wouldn’t listen. After the calls ended, texts came through. At first they were from Adam. Drunken decelerations of love. Disjointed thoughts of an unclear mind. Then they changed. They called her names, demeaned her. She turned her phone off. Adam had to be beyond reason if he let Gaston talk to her in such a way.

Adam and Stanley had to be the ones to face the music when it came down to blame for the accident. They each took a lesser sentence, community service, mandatory rehab, counseling and they were expelled. Adam became the worst version of himself. Guilt over took him. He withdrew into himself, became bitter, letting his anger consume him. If he did speak to anyone, there was no kindness in his words. Belle stood by him, did her best to help him through the darkness. Her breaking point came during her second year of college. He had done well over the holidays. He was getting better. So when the stick said Pregnant she was able to think to the future again. They had taken their lives day by day for the last two years. She could see a glimmer of hope in their darkness.

Fate, cruel as always, laughed. He had been working at the grocery store when she came in. Gaston’s mother. Seeing Adam whole set her grief anew. He stood there unmoving as she berated him, blamed him for everything that happened that night. Her son wouldn’t do the things they had said about him. Adam was a dirty orphan who drug her son down with him. Management lead her away from him but the damage had been done. In a stupor he walked out of the store grabbing a bottle of his poison on the way out. He missed her calls. Ignored them. Ignored everyone as he drank himself stupid again.

Belle was done. She could only watch him destroy himself for so long. And losing her child was the final straw.

“I won’t sit by and watch you drink yourself to death,” she said. “I can’t do it anymore.”

The last time she saw Adam, he had passed out on her dorm room floor. The last she heard he’d voluntarily checked himself into an in patient clinic. Belle kept in contact with Lumiere and Cogsworth. They came to her graduation when her own father was too ill to make the drive. They stood by her when she lost her father. The two men rarely mentioned Adam except in passing. He was out of rehab. Seemed to be doing well. He was working. Stocking shelves at a big box store. Somewhere he didn’t have to see customers.

Belle sighed away the memories and stood up from her chair and took out her favorite book. A leather bound copy of Sense and Sensibility. Opening it at random, dried flowers fell from the pages. Tucked between another page was a yellowing piece of notebook paper. A letter. A letter from Adam in the Before.

My Belle,

It feels so great to be able to call you mine. I know I’m not the easiest guy you could be with. I’m so grateful that you are. As promised, I’m doing better. Learning to take a breath to settle my anger before speaking. I need to explain what happened. The photo in my room, was my mother. The only thing I managed to keep throughout my childhood and moves. I am so sorry that I lost my temper. It wasn't acceptable behavior and I know that. I am going to forever be working on myself, to be who you need me to be.

I love you, Belle. Don’t give up on me.

Yours always,

Adam

She slid the letter back into the book. That Adam was long gone. He had a way with words. One minute he was a master poet, extolling words of love and devotion. But there was the other side of the coin. His words, when used in anger could tear a person down and leave them shattered. But that was then. She was a different person now.

You can trust me not to think And not to sleep around If you don't expect too much from me You might not be let down Cause all I really want is to be with you Feeling like I matter too If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago I might be here with you

His shift was ending. He didn’t have anywhere to be. His dads had taken a cruise, trusting they could leave Adam home alone for the first time in years. He didn’t have many friends that he could call to see if they wanted to grab a bite. In fact not counting Hatter, he didn’t have anyone he could call anymore. He took out his phone to check the time. It was just after eight. Jack in the Box would still be open. He could go there, eat a cheap burger and fries and go home. He smiled sadly looking at the picture that was a perfect moment in time. Belle. Lumiere had taken the photo. Together on the tire swing in the backyard. They had been so happy. Back when she was still his. Back before everything went to hell.

He still had her number in his phone. He never called it. He was sure she’d hang up on him before he ever got a word spoken. That was if she hadn’t blocked his number altogether. There was so much he wanted to tell her. To apologize for. He loved her. Loved her enough that he would be okay if she never came back to him. Not that the sting of jealousy didn’t bite him in the ass when he saw her with someone else.

He had seen her from afar so many times over the years. She still called his dads when something good happened to her. They would always tell him if she was coming over or if they had talked to her. Adam never asked Cogsworth or Lumiere to say he was thinking of her. That he still loved her with all the passion he still had. He wouldn’t do that to her. Not again.

He found himself walking in the rain. After the accident, he never drove again. He wasn’t sure where he was going until he found himself outside her house. She was sitting in front of the fire reading, like she always did. Taking a breath, he walked away from the window and to the front door. He pressed the doorbell and waited.

Belle never imagined who would be on the other side of her door.

“Adam?”

“Belle.” No matter how many years passed by, Adam saying her name was enough to send shockwaves through her whole body.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I know if I hadn’t messed up that night, I wouldn’t be standing out here in the rain,” he said, his blue eyes staring at her. “There are so many things that I’ve done that I’m not proud of. Hurting you, driving you away will always be on the top of my list.”

“You really hurt me, Adam. How can I ever trust you again?”

He fished something out of his pocket. A bronze colored coin. Belle had seen the collection of sobriety coins Hatter had. Hatter was eighteen years sober. So often they just wanted to get Adam to thirty days. Thirty days. Then to ninety days. To a hundred and eighty. To one year. The bronze coin in his hand had a 2 stamped in the center of it.

“Two years, yesterday Belle,” he said. “730 days. Dad and Pop came to the meeting. Hatter actually cried.”

Two years. Belle tried to imagine Hatter crying. The thought made her giggle. She caught his eye and in an instant it was like they were seventeen again. He pulled her to him, expression nervous but hopeful as he waited for her to make the next move. Maybe it was too much to hope he would take her back so soon. But she had to know. Had to know there would never be another for him. She was it. He would spend the rest of his life making up for the last five years of hell he put them through. He needed and wanted her with every fiber of being. She must have seen it, weighed the consequences in her own mind. Seconds passed and her lips crashed into his, igniting a passion she had long buried. He walked her backwards into the house, kicking the door closed behind them. Between their increasingly fervent kisses, he was apologizing.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Maurice died,” he said as she pulled his wet coat from him. “I’m sorry for passing out in your yard.”

“Adam, if you list everything you’re sorry for, you’ll be here until Christmas.”

Christmas sounded good to Adam. He could spend a Christmas with Belle. A birthday with Belle. God, was this really happening? Was she really there? He had to be sure.

“Am I really here?” he whispered into her hair, holding her close to him.

“Yes, you’re really here. I’m here.” Belle traced the marks on his face.

“You can count on me now, Belle. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Prove it.”

A low chuckle escaped his throat as he kissed her again. He drank her in, every sight, every scent mixing with memories. Lifting her into his arms holding her close. He pressed her against the wall, his lips finding all the places that brought her pleasure. The places only he knew. Her legs wrapped around him, as if they had never been apart.

Her senses came back to her first. She shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t let him back into her life. She knew the risks and her heart could only break so many times.

“Wait, Adam. Stop. Put me down,” she said. With her feet on the ground, her head was coming out of the clouds.

“Belle? Aren’t you happy I’m back?”

“Oh, Adam,” she sighed. “I have wanted nothing but for you to be sober and happy. But I can’t be the root of your happiness. I won’t survive it again.”

He nodded. He’d heard this before, from his fathers, from Hatter. He expected it from Belle. She had been hurt the most by his actions. Because she could walk away.

“I understand Belle. I do. It will take more than just words and promises. Because I’ve said and done things that I am not proud of. I’ve hurt you. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I love you.”

He took out his phone, opening the notes app. Scrolling down he found a letter he had written to her during his final rehab stay. He began to read.

“My dearest Belle, there is nothing that I can say that will ever make up for my behavior. There is nothing I regret more. I lie here in my bed thinking about what — no not what — who we lost. Who they could have been if they’d had a better father. I will never forgive myself for walking away. Walking away from you, from what you meant — mean to me. I am so sorry that you were alone. I am sorry that my selfish wants overtook me when you needed me most. Nothing I can ever do will make up for that. In the worst moment of your — our lives, you were alone. And that is not right. It will never be right. And if you can ever forgive me, I will work forever to earn back your love and your trust. And even if you never can, knowing that I tried will be enough for me. I love you Belle. I love you enough to walk away if that’s what you want from me.”

He stopped reading and looked up at her. “What do you want Belle?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You. Demons and all.”

#hey jealousy #beauty and the beast #beauty and the beast fan fic #gin blossoms #inspired by music

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lost-eternity · 4 years

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Matchup requests: CLOSED

Matchup request for: anonymous

Okie dokie. I match you with...

Undertaker!

You are absolutely fine, dear. My form is about thrice as long so I totally get it. Besides, This way I have more to go on. Anyways, I can already tell that we would get along so well, pffft.

It honestly took me all of 5 seconds of reading this to decide your ship, I hope you enjoy it.

Power couple right here

I mean, seriously

There is no hell you wouldn't raise

I hope you don't mind getting your hands dirty, though

But my goodness, no one is safe from the two of you

Your humour, dark and inappropriate as it may be, is right up Undertaker's ally. You can send him howling with laughter with a single offhand remark or retort.

Most of the time, I would ship someone with chaotic energy with someone who is more calm and level headed but honestly, Undertaker is the exception to this rule

He would genuinely get on the nerves or anyone who can't match his level of chaos

But ooooh boy would he be able to keep pace with you.

The constant playful bickering would be extremely amusing to watch, not that any of you would get any work done

The two of you would be too buzzed on caffeine and laughing until your guts hurt

Every night at his place is more like a sleepover

So many go there more sparingly. You both technically need sleep.

Also pet names!

You two would have the weirdest pet names for each other

"Undie"

"Death goddess" (Undertaker has a cruel sense of irony)

This is the only instance where the pet name "Boo" is acceptable

Undertaker would be able to see right through your dirty, airhead façade, if only because he puts on the same one.

It piques his interests. "What is she hiding?"

The first time you saw one of his "guests", he assumed that you would be off put by her presence as most were.

She was a young female, brutally mugged on the street, her corpse left to rot when the thief accidentally killed her. At least, that is what he thought.

You, on the other hand, did not seem even the slightest fazed.

He actually looked a little disappointed. "What? No screaming? I love the sound of my goddess mewling." Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.

You kinda look at him incredulously. "It's a dead body. What is it going to do, get up and chase me?"

The smirk on his face was slightly alarming. "Maybe..."

Okay that was a little bit... worrisome.

Regardless, Undertaker concluded that she resisted her mugger and he slashed her throat, killing her before running off

Of course, you saw a completely different story and pointed out something that slipped his notice entirely. But of course, you would be grinning from ear to ear and speaking in a light-hearted and airy tone as you loom over a gruesome maimed corpse. "No, no, the multiple lacerations to the jugular could not have been the cause of death. Notice how there is little to no blood-clotting and the edges of the wound appear singed. The injury was cauterized and simultaneously inflicted. And since blood loss, not asphyxiation, is the primary COD on slitting one's throat, this could not have been the killing strike."

A little bit taken aback, an exuberant laugh bubbled from Undertaker's lips. He was impressed.

To use a heated knife meant the killer, whoever it may be, did so on purpose with the intent on keeping her alive long enough to torture her.

Hmm...

You two probably met in the weirdest fashion

You were in the city, heading to get a fitting for your newest corset when you heard someone shrieking.

It took you a few moments to register that it wasn't exactly shrieking that you heard- rather maniacal laughter.

Pausing, you noticed a group of individuals clustering around a shop labeled "undertakers". If their clothes were anything to go by, these people were nobles.

A woman dressed from head to toe in scarlet held a pale, unworked hand to her lips.

Beside her a kid slightly taller than you on the account of the wooden heels he wore on the back of his shoes looked quite ticked off.

It was quite an interesting collection of individuals. Besides. What would nobility be doing WAITING outside an Undertaker shop? They usually had other people waiting on them, rarely was it the other way around.

On second thought, who in the world had the guile and lack of self-preservation skills to make nobility wait?

The door creaked open as a raven haired man stepped outside, looking all too pleased with himself.

While you couldn't ignore the handsome curve of his face, his smug expression told you all you needed to know regarding the sheer levels of impudence and egotism surrounding this individual

Those wine russet eyes opened, directing a firey stare at you, boring into your own gaze.

You held his eye contact for a moment then turned on your heels and continued on your little errand.

The rest of the nobility seemed to finally be allowed in the shop

On your way back from the fitting, you decided to stop by this Undertaker's to try and find out the reason for the things you witnessed. Those nobles seemed to be long gone so you were safe as you stepped inside.

It was black. Pitch black. A peal of deranged laughter echoed from the abyssal chasm within.

You remained unnerved as you folded your arms and gazed across the room with steadfast resolve

Something nudged against your foot looking down, through the shaft of light that shone through the door frame, you were able to spot a literal skeleton hand on your foot

You quickly kicked it off and appeared even more incredulous

Whoever had been trying to scare you appeared to give up

The candles flickered back to life and you spotted a grey-haired man, swathed in a black coat, lackadaisically stretched across an examination table. His silver mane tapered into a thick fringe which completely obscured his features save for the cheshire grin that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face. "My. It's not often that I get two customers in one day..." he purred ominously

"Yeah. About that. What was with those nobles earlier?"

He chuckled and pressed a clawed finger to his lips. "A gentleman never kisses and tells."

You just kinda looked at him like ???

It really wasn't your business what this Undertaker and that butler were doing in here alone as everyone else waited outside but wasn't that a bit-

The thunderous laughter that burst from Undertaker's chest told you that he was joking

How he managed to do so with a straight face was beyond comprehension. But perhaps he found your genuine consideration of his sentence to be amusing.

You two end up striking a deal. And it was a weird one. Undertaker would tell you what the nobles were doing and in return you would have to get a fitting for a coffin.

He lamented that it was not his usual payment but "The little Earl is being so stubborn, he refuses to let me fit him. You are just as tiny. I think you will do wonderfully."

Like "uhhh? Thank you?"

It's not every day you get a chance to be fitted for your future coffin.

So you allow him to take measurements

His fingers ghosting against your skin as he does so, sending goose-flesh pricking across your arm

Once he is finished, he divulges all he can, which only seems to confuse you more.

Nobles who solve murders? Isn't that the Yard's job. What are nobles doing getting involved. Half of them have never cleaned a single dish in their life, how can anyone expect them to catch a killer.

The Undertaker watched you with a smirk equal parts knowing and amused. He just loves seeing you think things through and figure them out.

Meanwhile, you caught on to his mannerisms. He knew more than he was letting on. But you doubted he would tell you more.

Thanking him for his service, you headed out.

You barely made it a block when you were jumped by someone.

A shadow

Strong arms pinned you to a wall, you tried to call for help but the soft leather of a gloved hand clamped over your mouth. You were left to stare into those same burning russet eyes for the second time that day.

The boy from earlier, taking a step out from behind his attack butler crossed his arms. You noticed the eyepatch he wore, but did not have the mind to question it. You were currently pinned to a wall, your mind was a bit preoccupied

"Why are you following us?" The kid demanded

You rolled your eyes and looked back at him before angrily gesturing to the mildly irritating hand over your mouth.

The kid looked just as irritated. "Sebastian."

The butler needed no further command. He removed his hand but kept you constrained in place.

You appraised the pair warily. 'So, the butler's name is Sebastian... heh. More like Sebastard'

You were also smart enough to know that if they were investigating such a high profile case like Jack the Ripper, they were probably into some pretty shady stuff. If they were speaking with Undertaker, then they had connections to the Underworld. After all, every dead body killed in the underworld usually makes its way to the Undertaker at some point or another. It was quite brilliant, actually.

The boy looked impatient so you answered truthfully. Albeit carefully. You were wondering what a bunch of nobles would be waiting for and wanted to meet the person who had the nerve to keep them waiting.

The kid seemed somewhat satisfied with your answer, if not entirely indignant towards it. You had a feeling that you chose your words well because he appeared to agree with what you were saying. He obviously did not like the Undertaker.

Sebastian- sorry, Sebastard, on the other hand, did not appear all too convinced. But he seemed to have gauged that you were not a threat and decided not to voice his concerns.

You were let off with a stern lecture about meddling in "Phantomhive" affairs.

Dodged a bullet on that one

Still. The revealment of his surname only brought more confusion upon you. Phantomhive was a KID'S toy company. Why is the head of a kid's brand investment murder?

The more you looked into it, the less it started making sense

And that sent you down a spiraling trail that eventually lead you back to the Undertaker

Whether or not you return to him as a friend or one of his "guests" is completely up to you and how careful you walk this dangerous tightrope

Oooh, ominous. Thank you for request, dear.

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thatsparrow · 5 years

Text

(fleabag/priest • read on ao3)

I love you, too.

It'll pass.

Much like God, that last bit turned out to be a lie.

—

It's two years later and things are—fine, actually. Good, even. Cashiers ask you how you are, and you say, "I'm doing well, thanks," and it doesn't even feel like a lie. The cafe is, somehow, still a success—enough so that you can afford to do things like buy a new awning and replace the linoleum. You even spend a weekend with drop-cloths spread out over your nice, recently-replaced linoleum and give the interior a new coat of paint. You choose this pastel, light-washed teal color that looked cheery on the swatches but mostly reminds you of watered-down mouthwash. Still, when the sun comes in during the afternoons, it looks nice. You get compliments on it.

All the guinea pig pictures are still up, of course.

Both Hillary and Stephanie (who is, you remind people, actually a hamster) are also doing well, which feels like a miracle. A few months back, Hillary caught some sort of guinea pig flu and that had led to an emergency vet visit and several very-panicked Google searches about guinea pig lifespans, but then she'd gotten better and apparently they live for four-to-eight years anyway, so, she'll likely be around for ages yet.

(Hamsters, on the other hand, only live about two. Sorry, Stephanie.)

That banker—or, former banker? You never did find out what his new job was—still comes by. At least once a month, and usually on Chatty Wednesdays. He brings his wife, too, as he'd said he would. She has kind eyes—which is the sort of description you don't use very often, but suits her—and is both soft-spoken and full of questions. You learn that she bakes, because of course she does, and every so often she brings along a cloth-lined basket of lavender cookies or rose-frosted cupcakes or something equally Martha Stewart. They're fucking delicious, too.

Claire still commutes from Finland, but less often, now that she lives there. She has an apartment in London for when she visits that's obscenely beautiful and rarely-ever used—dark granite countertops and these funny-looking geometric sofas and lots of tasteful artwork (though, none of them done by your cunt stepmother). It should all be gathering dust, but Claire pays someone to clean it once a week and to keep the fridge stocked (on the off chance she comes for a sudden visit, which she never does). Sometimes, when you've been out late and your own place is too far away, you stay there for the night. Claire did give you a spare key, after all, and it seems a shame that no one is getting any use out of those million-thread count sheets or the quinoa salads in the fridge. You don't particularly like quinoa, but that isn't the point.

The two of you don't talk often, but often enough. You know that she's busy, and when she does call, it doesn't feel like an obligation. Like, sure, maybe your sister needs a calendar reminder to phone you, but when she does, she sounds genuinely happy to hear from you. (She also just sounds genuinely happy about her life, which is such a wonderful change of pace.) Tall, blonde, beautiful, Finnish Klare posts pictures of the two of them on Facebook sometimes (yes, you got a Facebook just to friend him)—mostly selfies, all taken by him, of him and Claire in various corners of the world. Stern-looking, northern cities where the sun doesn't rise part of the year, and bright, fruit-flavored beaches where the sun never sets. Claire looks half-annoyed in all of them, but the kind of annoyance that's covering up how pleased she really is. Like she isn't allowed to look too happy about her tall, blonde, beautiful, Finnish boyfriend and how much he clearly adores his tall, brunette, equally-beautiful, British girlfriend.

"If you have a child, will you also name it Claire?"

"What? Don't be silly, we're not having a child. I don't even know if we're going to get married."

(She does, and they are.)

"You could spell it with a ch so it's a little bit different. Something silly and American, like C-h-l-a-y-r-e."

"Stop it."

(She's smiling on the other end of the phone. You expect they'll announce the pregnancy by the end of the year.)

"It's gender-neutral, too, so you're set either way. Come on—you both have perfect bones and perfect hair and it'd be such a shame to waste that. "

"You're ridiculous."

"Always, but I think I'd be a great Aunt to little Chlayre."

"I'm going, now."

Apparently, having sex with someone who has the same name as you is weird, but you get used to it. And, apparently, the sex has been so amazing anyway that it's worth a little weirdness. Good for her. God knows she needed it.

(Speaking of God—)

He moved parishes shortly after the wedding. Not God, of course, but—well, you know. You'd thought it a little dramatic to move entire cities just because you'd had sex, but it was also arguably less dramatic than his leaving the Church, so. Likely he had made the right call. You probably would have ended up hating each other by the end, anyway, if he'd stayed. It wouldn't have worked out, because when do these things ever? It's good that he left. (It isn't.) It is.

Still.

You think about him less than you used to, less than in the days after—I love you, too. It'll pass—the bus stop, when it was all still so fresh and new. When you were feeling dramatic (drunk), you'd liken it to the feeling of having lost a limb, like he'd taken one of your hands or some vital organ when he'd walked away. When you're feeling less dramatic (sober), you liken it to having lost something you'd only been promised—something fanciful, like someone told you that they'd invented the ability to breathe underwater and it had all turned out to be a lie.

Except it wasn't a lie. He did love you. He just loved God more.

One afternoon, you'd been running errands that had happened to take you past the church (six blocks out of your way, actually, but close enough) and ducked inside—not even to say anything, just to see him, maybe—but it had been empty except for Pam arranging some pamphlets at the front. You'd asked about him, because of course you had, and she'd said he was "gone."

"Gone gone? Like—"

(Dead?)

"No, sorry, my mistake. Moved. This lovely parish on the coast whose own priest passed away a few weeks ago. A little quiet, but he says it's very charming."

"You've spoken to him, then?"

"Yes, of course."

Of course—like it's so simple.

You leave ten minutes later, after Pam's talked you into donating another ten pounds to the collection and volunteering at another church event the coming weekend, but it doesn't really hit you until you're nearly back at the cafe that he's—gone. Not dead gone, but might as well be. That, much like Harry taking that stupid dinosaur toy, he'd wanted to close the door permanently. Maybe he knew you well enough to know that you'd come back to the church someday, or maybe he knew himself well enough to figure it was only a matter of time before he turned up on your doorstep, and so he'd taken the choice away from you both. What a stupid, frustratingly-adult thing of him to do.

You hate him and love him a little bit more for it.

You don't really know what moving on looks like, but you figure it out. You drink a lot, at first, and then a little bit less. You stop feeling weepy whenever you see a Bible, or a G&T, or photos from the wedding. Rebound sex isn't as good as you'd imagined (except with the Hot Misogynist), and so you quit bringing people home quite so often—at least until you can stop comparing everyone to him. You still masturbate over him, of course, but it feels less like a need and more like a way to treat yourself. Like, if you eat all of that kale salad and only have a glass of wine with dinner, then tonight you can wank over his stupid strong arms and his stupid beautiful neck and that stupid little smile of his. If you just make it through a whole lunch with your dad and your cunt stepmother and not say anything too profane, then you get to touch yourself and imagine waking up with him in the morning and him making you pancakes and other sickeningly domestic fantasies.

It's been two years, so of course you've moved on, but you've moved on in a way that lets you keep loving him. Perhaps it's irresponsible, but you're not willing to let him go entirely. Not yet, anyway.

—

Then, your cunt stepmother announces that she and your father are adopting a baby.

"I'm sorry, what—"

"You've got to be fucking kidding—"

They'd waited until Claire was in town to make the announcement. They'd invited you both over for tea, and you should've known something was strange about that, but then you're sitting in the garden with a mouthful of Earl Gray and your cunt stepmother says she's adopting and you have to flip a coin between spitting out the tea all over her tasteful linens or scalding the inside of your throat.

You end up swallowing the sip, but it's a close call.

"Well, you know, I've never really ruled out having children—it's such a blessed, beautiful part of life—but, unfortunately, I can no longer conceive naturally, and so your father and I have been discussing—"

(It wasn't a discussion.)

"—and we submitted the applications and met with a mother this week. Lovely girl, terribly awful home life, can't afford to raise the baby on her own, but she's just got the most marvelous cheek bones."

(Cunt.)

"Anyway, she's due in a couple of weeks and then we'll be bringing little Felicity home—"

(Felicity?)

"—and we'd just love it if you two were there for the christening."

"Yeah, because this family has such a great record with godmothers."

Your cunt stepmother is still smiling but the look she's giving you is acidic enough to peel paint.

"Oh, look, I don't know." Claire's grip on the teacup is so tight, you're surprised she hasn't cracked the porcelain. "I've just taken time off to come home, and I'm really not sure I'll be able to again so soon—"

"No, but you must—mustn't she, darling? Your father just couldn't bear it if you weren't there for such an important day, and we did so miss you at the wedding reception."

(Two years, and she still hasn't let that go.)

"Say you will, Claire. Please? Promise us you'll be there." How your cunt stepmother manages to look so pleading is a mystery, but fuck her if she doesn't have it nailed. Your father is still mostly silent, as he's been throughout this whole ordeal, but Claire must see something in his expression because she relents with a, "Yes, fine, alright. I'll be there."

For the christening. The christening of the baby they're adopting. Your father's going to be in his fucking seventies at the kid's graduation.

"Oh, how marvelous! It won't be for a few months or so after the birth, so you should have plenty of time to get everything in order. The whole thing will be just splendid."

(It won't be.)

—

The day of the christening creeps up like a bad dream.

(You know those events when you think you'd rather get a bikini wax and then take a bath in lemon juice than attend? This is one of those days.)

You found a dress that seems like a good church dress, a boat-neck, sky-blue thing that doesn't really do anything for your figure, but it is a christening, so. You get there early because your cunt stepmother asked you to (demanded it), and because Claire will be getting there early as well, and maybe the two of you can sneak some of the church wine. You figure you'll probably be handing out programs or directing people to their seats or whatever else happens at a christening. It'll last about an hour, and then there will be a tasteful reception with champagne and sparkling cider and your dad and cunt stepmother showing off baby Felicity in her white, wedding-like christening gown, and then you can go home and forget the whole thing ever happened.

That's the plan, anyway.

You get to the church a half-hour before the christening starts (which is still later than you were meant to be here, but fuck it) and your cunt stepmother is already in—well, a tizzy. She's wearing this funny, artsy-looking gown that's patterned like stained glass and you wish it looked worse on her than it does. She's not yet holding baby Felicity (because this day isn't really about baby Felicity) but she is deep in conversation with the priest up near the altar, who's already dressed in his own decorative christening robes. Then your cunt stepmother looks up and sees you standing in the aisle, half-debating whether you could hide under the pews, and she's calling out your name and saying, "Thank God you're finally here—sorry, Father," and, "Oh, do you remember—?"

(It's him.)

"—he's the priest who officiated our wedding. He's not in the parish anymore—such a shame—but when I knew we'd be adopting little Felicity, I contacted him to find out if he'd be willing to perform the ceremony. Such a dear, isn't he?"

(It's him.)

"I do so love the symmetry of it. And it seemed such a hassle trying to find another priest we'd connect with when we already knew such a nice fellow."

(It's him, it's him—fuck me—it's him.)

He smiles when he sees you, a nice, polite, church smile. Of course, he's had however many weeks to prepare for this whereas you've just had an anvil dropped on you like you're Wile E. fucking Coyote.

"Pleasure to see you again," he says. He even sounds sincere.

"Likewise—" you say, but then your cunt stepmother is coming down from the altar and shepherding you into the back and putting you to work folding programs—"Make sure you're lining up the corners, dear,"—and you've never hated her quite so much. Of course, if it weren't for her and baby Felicity and the whole stupid christening, he wouldn't be here in the first place, but you're willing to ignore that for the sake of hating her. Fuck, he'd looked good, too. And here you are in your fucking church-appropriate dress folding fucking programs and by the end of the day he'll be gone back to the fucking coast and—

You need a cigarette, or ten. Fuck the programs.

It's quiet in the alley, enough so for you to take a couple of slow, deep, wonderfully nicotine-filled breaths and get yourself together. It'll be fine. It'll be miserable, but it'll also be fine. You'll sit in the pew, and you'll watch him perform the ceremony, and try very hard not to think about how beautiful he is underneath the fancy christening robes, and tonight you'll drink yourself unconscious and then wake up tomorrow and forget the whole day ever happened. It'll be the worst day of your life, but then it will be over.

(Second-worst, actually.)

The cigarette is nearly burned down to your fingernails, and you're about to stub it out when you hear the side door opening, and you say, "Sorry, Dad, I'll be there in a moment, I'm just—"

"Got a light?"

It's him.

(It's him.)

You nod, your breath feeling very shallow as he comes up next to you, leans in towards you with the tip of his cigarette. The orange light looks like paint on his skin, like he's been pulled from a Renaissance painting. He still smells the same.

"Aren't you worried about ash on your—" you gesture down at the fancy christening robes.

"Not really." He exhales, slow; his hand is shaking a little. "I doubt anyone but your stepmother would notice, anyway."

The thought gives you a sudden rush of satisfaction. Fuck, you do love him.

"I tried to quit for a while," he says after another breath, the smoke hovering in front of him, "then found I didn't really want to."

(You hope he isn't actually talking about cigarettes.)

"Better than me—I've never even tried to give it up."

(You, at least, are definitely not talking about cigarettes.)

"How have you been?" he asks.

(Miserable, then less miserable, then better, and now miserable all over again.)

"Good, actually. Haven't run myself out of business yet, so. That's something. How about you?"

"I was pretty lonely, for a while. New parish and all that. But it's not so bad now, and I quite like being so close to the water."

(You're happy that he's doing well, and also a little unhappy that he isn't doing worse.)

"That sounds nice, actually. And it's good of you, to have come all the way back for the christening. You didn't have to."

He's giving you a look. You hope it's the sort of look that means, yes, I did.

"Well, your stepmother can be awfully persistent."

"Yeah, well, she's a cunt."

He laughs at that, both amused and unsurprised. "I don't think I can mention that during my speech."

"No, probably not."

His own cigarette is nearly gone; you'll have to go inside, soon, and then the moment will be over. You really, really don't want it to be over.

"Do you ever think about moving back?" Your palms somehow feel very dry and very sweaty at once.

"Sometimes. Often, if I'm being honest, but—" he exhales instead of finishing the sentence. "There's plenty to keep me busy where I am now."

"And how's—God?" You're just fishing for time now. Badly.

He raises an eyebrow at you. "Mostly the same. A bit disappointed in the state of the world, but still filled with an infinite capacity for love, forgiveness, et cetera."

"Right. I think I remember something like that in the Bible."

"Love, forgiveness, et cetera?"

"Exactly."

He laughs again, then pauses. "Do you still have it, then? The one I gave you, I mean."

(You know what he meant.)

"Yeah, I've got it somewhere."

(In your nightstand, but he doesn't need to know that.)

He nods, then lets his own cigarette fall to the pavement.

"Well, I should—"

"You should probably—"

If you were braver, you might kiss him. If he were braver, he might kiss you. You don't really want him to leave, and he doesn't particularly look like he wants to go, but without being brave, neither of you knows what's supposed to happen next. He'd go back inside and then go back to his new parish, probably, and you'd never see him again. It's painful, how much you don't want that.

"Can I ask you something?"

He looks both curious and a little afraid for the question. "Yeah, of course."

He'll be going anyway, whether or not if you fuck this up. There's no reason not to try—other than that you're a little bit of a coward, but that's not really an excuse.

"You said it would pass." You feel a little dizzy. "Did it?" His jaw goes tight a little, like there's a wire running through it. "I'm just—curious, I guess." You take a slow breath. Fuck, what you wouldn't give for another cigarette right now, or an IV filled with whiskey. "Because it didn't, for me."

At that, he lets go of whatever tension he was holding in his jaw. He lets out a half-laugh that seems—relieved, almost. "No?"

You shake your head.

"No. It didn't for me, either. I feel like I've spent the last few years cheating on God—loving him and loving you."

There it is, in the open then. I love you, too.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You want to kiss him, or maybe have him fuck you against the wall. You think he probably would, too. It's exhausting, feeling this elated and miserable at once; by the time you go back inside, you hope the needle has landed on one or the other, you almost don't care which.

"What does that mean, then?"

He laughs again. "Fuck if I know. Like I haven't wasted two years trying to figure that out." He sighs, impossibly weary. "I still don't want to leave the church."

"Okay."

"But I don't want to spend any more time without you, either."

"Okay."

"It would help if you said anything else."

"I would, if I knew what else to say."

(Kiss me, fuck me, marry me—none of those are particularly solution-oriented, though.)

"It's been a while since we were friends. We might not like each other anymore."

(Bullshit. To the friends part and the not liking each other part.)

"Yeah, maybe."

"We could still end up hating each other."

(We wouldn't.)

"Also true."

"But—I could come back. See you again. See if this is still—"

(It is.)

"I'd like that."

He nods, weighty, like you were just discussing how to solve world hunger instead of whether or not he'll move a forty-minute drive back inland.

"I should actually get back inside, now, before your stepmother castrates me—"

(Which would be a shame, now, after all that.)

"—but I'll be in touch? If you want?"

"I—yeah. Yes, I do."

He nods, and then he's stepping away, back towards the side door and the interior of the church. You wish he'd moved the other way, wish he'd push you up against the pitted brick wall and kiss you like it'd kill him to do anything else, but he doesn't. He's already in his fancy christening robes, after all, and it'd be a shame to wrinkle them now. Besides, you've waited two years. You can wait a few weeks or months more. You can wait, and then the two of you will figure out what happens next. He loves you as much as he loves God, and that already feels like a better place to start.

You brush the ash from your own dress and go back inside.

(You had said this was a love story.)

#fleabag #fleabag x the priest #fleabag fic #the priest #3600 words in like two days I really was feeling inspired #my fic

265 notes · View notes

puppypaw-wc · 4 years

Text

i just wanted to ramble ‘bout undertale... hhhhhhhh.

aka me just describing the whole plot of the game... this one’s just the ruins tho cuz i don’t think tumblr would let me type out the whole game’s plot in detail.

i understand if y’all don’t wanna see this so it’s under the cut.

soooo uh. the opening “cutscene”/whatever you call it is just a few images with text explaining the events prior to the game.

“long ago, two races ruled over earth: humans and monsters. one day, war broke out between the two races. in the end, the humans were victorious. they sealed the monsters underground with a magic spell. many years later . . . mt. ebbot. 201X. legends say those who climb the mountain never return...”

the last frames show a human who you’d at first assume to be the player character climbing the mountain and falling in; however, it is not the player character (frisk), as the human in the intro only has one stripe on their shirt, while frisk’s shirt has two.

anyways after that you get presented with the start menu (it’s track is creatively entitled, you guessed it, start menu!) with instructions on how to play the game. once you start, you get to name the fallen human.

now, this is honestly kinda ingenious. it doesn’t say “name your character”, it doesn’t say “what is your name?”; no, it says “name the fallen human”.

there’s also responses to some specific names.

like if you name yourself “fight” (or something like that) or “mercy”, the response is “that’s a little on the nose, isn’t it?”, though the name’s still allowed to be used.

naming yourself one of the main characters’ names (or however much can fit) also elicits special responses, and most of them aren’t allowed to be used, but there’s a couple instances of them being usable. like papyrus’ name is too long so if you enter “papyru” as your name the response is “I’LL ALLOW IT” and the name’s allowed to be used. the names “blooky” or “napsta” (as in napstablook) are also allowed, with the response being “... (they are powerless to stop you)”. my favorite is either naming yourself “flowey” or “temmie” tho.

the name “flowey” gets the response “i already CHOSE that name” (flowey had the ability to reset/save/etc. before frisk) with it not being allowed, while naming yourself “temmie” gets the response “hOi!!!” as a reference to the species of temmie (temmie is best undertale character /hj) and is allowed. it used to make tem flakes heal more but that was removed for some reason.

ANYWAYS the game starts after you name yourself (the “true name” is chara, which elicits the response “the true name”, so i’ll be referring to “the fallen human” as such). you start out with your armor as the bandage and your weapon as the stick... both of which have 0 of their corresponding stat.

in the next room, you meet a talking flower, who introduces himself.

“howdy! i’m flowey! flowey the flower! hmm, you’re new to the underground, aren’t’cha? golly, you must be so confused! someone oughta teach ya how things work around here. (oop i’m listening to the undertale ost and finale started playing-fitting-) guess lil’ old me will have to do? ready? let’s go!”

you then find yourself in a battle. on the bottom of the screen, there’s two things: your LV, which is 1 at the time, and your hp, which is 20/20. in the middle of the screen is the bullet board, with a red heart inside. flowey’s above the bullet board. oh, and in battles, everything’s black and white other then the heart and some attacks.

“see that heart? that’s your SOUL. the very culmination of your being! your SOUL starts off weak, but grows stronger with LV. what’s LV stand for? why, LOVE, of course! you want some LOVE, don’t you? *he winks* down here, love is spread through little, white... “friendliness pellets”. go on! collect as many as you can!”

now, here, there’s two options: run into the “friendliness pellets” (which makes this part go by faster) or dodge them, which elicits some funny responses from flowey.

“hey buddy. you missed them. let’s try this again, shall we?”

“is this a joke? are you brain dead? RUN. INTO. THE. BULLETS friendliness pellets.”

“you know what’s going on here, don’t’cha? you just wanted to see me SUFFER. who would pass up an opportunity like this? DIE.”

running into them elicits basically the same thing as the last response, though he states that “in this world, it’s kill or be killed” first. i also don’t remember what he says if you run into them cuz i always dodge them... cuz it’s funny...

you find your SOUL surrounded with the “friendliness pellets”, and it seems that you’re doomed to death... but when they hit you, instead of harming you, they heal you.

flowey gets a confused look on his face before he’s hit with a fireball and goat mom toriel appears!

“what a terrible creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth. do not be afraid, my child. i am toriel, caretaker of the ruins. i pass through here everyday to see if a human has fallen. you are the first to have come here in a very long time.”

she also says some other stuff but i don’t remember it so. :shruggie:

anyways, you follow her into the next room, where you find a four-pointed star; a save point.

“the shadow of the ruins looms above, filling you with determination. (HP fully restored).”

this is your first opportunity to save, which is interestingly enough not just a game mechanic; it’s an in-universe feature as well.

(okay wtf undertale ost on shuffle, it played temmie village and then tem shop immediately after, wtf???)

anyways, toriel guides you through (read: does for you) a few puzzles, before you find yourself in a long hallway, where she says she wants to test your independence by making you walk to the end of the hallway by yourself.

she’s just hiding behind a pillar at the other end of the hallway.

toriel says that she has a few errands to run, and gives you a cellphone before leaving. you can get some funny calls if you do wait, and at the end of it all her phone gets stolen by a dog. despite this, she still calls you when you leave the room. she does actually have special dialogue, though: “My apologies. A strange dog kidnapped my phone.”

anyways, you travel through the ruins, getting encounters with the enemies (froggit, whimsun, loox, vegetoid, moldsmal, migosp), who you can all spare.

i forgot the dummy battle tutorial, basically toriel has a training dummy as a battle tutorial.

things you can do:

talk to it: this makes the battle end, and makes toriel seem happy with you. it’s technically the right thing to do but the others are funnier.

fight it: this kills the dummy, though it doesn’t give you exp, and thus you can still get a true pacifist route.

flee: you run away from the battle and toriel says that it’s a good strategy... but it’s just a dummy, it can’t hurt you and doesn’t seek revenge.

do nothing: if you do nothing for eight turns (including missing attacks), dummy “tires of your aimless shenanigans” and leaves. toriel is confused by this, but continues on as if nothing happened.

whatever you do elicits a different response in a future mini-boss’ pre-battle dialogue, so. yeah.

ANYWAYS!

the ruins’ mini-boss is napstablook, a ghost who, according to themself, “usually comes to the RUINS because there's nobody around”.

to spare them, you need to cheer three times; this makes them show you their “dapper blook” trick, which is a top hat made of tears. they stop attacking to await your response, and if you flirt or cheer, the encounter ends.

also random fun fact: just like with the dummy, killing napstablook doesn’t give you exp, and thus a true pacifist route doesn’t end.

“FIGHTing Napstablook causes them to remind the protagonist that they are a ghost and therefore unable to be killed; they were only lowering their HP to be nice. They then vanish, and the protagonist suffers a loss of one "experience point" (not the same as EXP). This action does not abort the True Pacifist Route since it does not accrue any EXP.”

(x)

oh yeah, did i mention that EXP and LV don’t mean experience points and level?

flowey was actually correct about LV being LOVE. however, it’s an acronym, namely for level of violence. EXP, on the other hand, is an acronym for execution points.

continuing through the ruins and doing some puzzles (one of which includes several holes you must fall through to find a switch, one of which has the faded ribbon, a piece of armor, in it), you can get the toy knife, a weapon, before heading to toriel’s house, where she’s made you a butterscotch-cinnamon pie.

you see, earlier on in the ruins, she asks if you prefer butterscotch or cinnamon (if you’ve reset/loaded a save from after this point, she actually remembers your answer), before asking if you’d turn up your nose at the sight of the other/if you have allergies. there wasn’t enough of both at the store or something along those lines if i remember right.

anyways, you go to sleep in your room (yes, you have your own bedroom and yes, that is pure, and yes, toriel is the best), and she puts a slice of the pie on the floor for you to collect. it’s a healing item that restores all your hp, but i’d recommend saving it honestly.

toriel’s reading in the living room, where you can talk to her and either ask how to leave, or just talk to her. you do have to leave for the game to progress, though.

after asking her how to leave like three or four times, she goes downstairs and talks to you before fighting you, asking you to prove that you’ll be able to survive.

you see...

“Every human that falls down here meets the same fate. I have seen it again and again. They come. They leave. They die. You naive child... If you leave the RUINS... They... ASGORE... Will kill you. I am only protecting you, do you understand? ... go to your room.”

the fight with toriel is one that people often mess up on, though the strategy for her fight is actually foreshadowed by an npc froggit earlier on in the ruins.

many people think that you have to weaken her, or just end up killing her because they don’t see how else to do it.

so, what does happen if you kill her? well, it depends.

if you attack her once she stops attacking:

“You... ... at my most vulnerable moment... To think I was worried you wouldn't fit out in there... Eheheheh!!! You really are no different than them! Ha... Ha...”

on a neutral route:

“Urgh... You are stronger than I thought... Listen to me, small one... If you go beyond this door, Keep walking as far as you can. Eventually, you will reach an exit. ... .... ASGORE... Do not let ASGORE take your soul. His plan cannot be allowed to succeed. ....... Be good, won't you? My child.“

on a genocide route:

“Y... you... really hate me that much? Now I see who I was protecting by keeping you there. Not you... But them! Ha... ha...”

fun fact: until today my dumbass though that “them” was referring to chara and only just realized that it’s referring to the monsters further in the underground.

and now, it’s time for flowey (slash indicates a break in the text).

on a pacifist route (where you don’t kill anyone):

“Clever. Verrrryyy clever. / You think you're really smart, don't you? / In this world, it's kill or be killed. / So you were able to play by your own rules. / You spared the life of a single person. / Hee hee hee... / I bet you feel really great. / You didn't kill anybody this time. / But what will you do if you meet a relentless killer? / You'll die and you'll die and you'll die.Until you tire of trying. / What will you do then? / Will you kill out of frustration? / Or will you give up entirely on this world...... / and let ME inherit the power to control it? / I am the prince of this world's future. / Don't worry, my little monarch, my plan isn't regicide. / This is SO much more interesting.”

on a genocide route (where you kill everyone, exhausting the kill counter until the “but nobody came” message appears):

“Hahaha... / You're not really human, are you? / No. You're empty inside. Just like me. In fact... / You're Chara, right? / We're still inseperable, after all these years... / Listen. I have a plan to become all powerful. / Even more powerful than you and your stolen soul. / Let's destroy everything in this wretched world. / Everyone, everything in these worthless memories... / Let's turn 'em all to dust.”

(note that by “chara” i mean “whatever you named the fallen human”)

and that’s it for the ruins.

uh. yeah.

sorry for rambling about undertale so much on main, i love it too much.

#puppy rambles #undertale #things that're definitely my special interests

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sweaterkittensahoy · 5 years

Photo

The story of Britton Bean started with finding her photo on the Humane Society website. It was April. We weren’t supposed to get a dog until July.

But. Those ears.

And she met all the requirements we had for a dog: Small (apartment management requires dogs under 20 pounds); female (to hopefully make it easier to become friends with the bestie’s dog; a rescue.

So, I posted this tweet, then frantically texted @whatsmyappeal, who was at work. Basically trying to talk myself out of going and meeting this dog. Because I knew. I just knew.

I mean. Those ears.

Here’s the thing about adopting a dog in PDX: If you adopt through the Humane Society, you have to move fast. Dogs and cats get adopted fantastically quickly in PDX. On average, dogs who pass behavioral tests and physical exams can be put up for adoption on Tuesday and gone by Wednesday. PDX is such a busy place for the Humane Society, that they take in a LOT of animals from neighboring states. It’s called the Second Chance Program. Animals from neighboring states who pass health and behavioral tests are sent to PDX so that shelters near-capacity can keep space open for animals that need more specialized care or simply more animals in general.

We’ll circle back to this in a second.

So, here’s this adorable, scared little girl up for adoption, and I’m trying desperately not to run out and grab her. We’re traveling in June and July; which is why we decided to wait until late July to even consider adoption. I had been looking at listings just to get a sense of how often small dogs came into the shelter. This was not the moment to adopt.

But. I knew she was ours. I just knew it.

I ended up calling the husband and laying out a plan. We’ll go and meet her. He gets final say in if we take her home. If she doesn’t feel like a good fit to him, we’ll wait. It’s important that we both want this dog.

We go. We fill out paperwork. We wait an hour. We go into the meeting room, and here she comes. She’s scared and nervy. Incredibly quiet. We find out she’s had a very, very exhausting week.

On Monday, she’d been found on the streets of Fresno.

On Tuesday, they’d put her on a truck to bring her to PDX.

On Wednesday, she’d been spayed.

And it was now Thursday, and we were meeting her.

Sean and I took a few minutes to discuss pros and cons: We couldn’t get a real sense of her overall personality at the moment because she was clearly terrified and exhausted. But we’ve always planned to adopt a rescue, so we’re well aware of issues we may have to overcome. What we had seen was promising. She was sweet and curious, if a bit shaky.

We took her home. On the drive there, we changed her name from Butterfly (named by the shelter) to Britton Bean. ‘Bean’ because she’s small and ‘Britton’ after my great-grandparents. They’d always been dog lovers and no one in the family had used the name elsewhere, and I think they’d have been delighted to find out our pup had their name.

We got her home, and put her inside, and she sniffed around for a couple of minutes, then spotted the couch and LEAPED onto it, rolling around and digging at it in clear excitement.

That answered our first question: She knew what a couch was. She probably hadn’t always been a stray.

A couple of hours later, we had answers to other questions: She knew how to walk on a leash. She liked belly rubs. I had no doubt that before she’d been found in Fresno, she’d been somebody’s pet.

For the next two weeks, she basically slept. Can’t say I blame her.

When she wasn’t sleeping, she was on watch. A few days after we got her, we took her for a car ride. She climbed right into Sean’s lap in the driver’s seat and stared out the window. She knew what a sweater was and liked to wear them. She knew to flop over to get her harness put on.

When they’d found her in Fresno, she’d clearly recently had puppies. But she was found alone, and the guess was that the puppies had been weaned, and she had been dumped. Frenso’s got a bad habit of that.

It didn’t make sense to me. She was two years old. If they’d only been using her for breeding, it seemed unlikely she’d be so good on a lease or want lap sits or know how to ride in a car. And while she was a bit skinny when we got her, she only had to put on a pound and a half to get back up to a good weight. Strays who have puppies tend to need to recover a lot more than that when they’re picked up by rescues. And if they’re lifelong strays, they don’t know how to walk on a leash or what lap sits are.

Looking at our girl and knowing what I knew of backyard breeders, I did some research, and I came to a conclusion. Our deer-headed, big-eared, long-bodied baby was a Chiweenie.

A Chiweenie is a “designer breed,” which is the nice way of saying someone got it into their head they had to further cute-ify dogs to their exact liking, and so they took a Dachshund and a Chihuahua and had them make babies. Now, where I come from, we’d call that a mutt, and there’d be an ad in the paper for free puppies. But since someone did it on purpose and gave it a cutesy nickname, puppies can cost up to $500 each. The fact that Bean was found on the streets with clear signs she’d had puppies but wasn’t skeletal? I’m pretty sure someone bred her specifically to sell her pups, and then dumped her when the pups were weaned.

But prior to that? I think she was someone’s beloved dog. Like I said, she knew what a couch was. She could walk on a leash. She was housebroken. She knew how to signal to go out. She knew what sweaters were and how to ride in the car.

I have a whole backstory of guesses of how she ended up at the Humane Society to come home with us, but I’ll skip that. Because what’s important isn’t where she was, it’s where she is, and that’s with us.

She is not without her challenges. She barks at nearly everything. She has separation anxiety (RIP living room blinds). We’re working on it. She crates well, thankfully, so we can keep her safe if we need to leave her alone, but we also have a dogsitter and try to take her with us on errands whenever possible.

What’s good is that while these things are issues, they’re improving. The barking is toning down in a lot of places, and her separation anxiety is getting less prominent. I work from home now, so when I leave the house, she seems to think I’ll never return. If Sean leaves for work, she’s fine. If he comes home after work, then leaves again, she gets a bit moody but does all right overall.

Even better is that the things we’re working on are changing. First, it was getting her to stop barking at every little thing. Now, it’s focusing on getting her to ignore other dogs walking by and getting her to stop threatening people dropping off mail and packages. But there’s a new twist: She barks for attention now. If we’re not giving her enough attention by her standards, she’ll come right up and bark at us. It is very, very annoying. But it’s also a good sign. She’s getting more comfortable, so she’s pushing boundaries to see what we do.

We do what we always do: We work with her, then praise her when she acts appropriately. She had to go one-on-one for training, but she did great. She loved it. The trainer thinks that she’ll never be super buddy-buddy with other dogs in general, but it’s a real possibility she’ll learn to ignore dogs on walks and maybe even be able to make a friend or two over time. We’re seeing her ability to ignore other dogs already, and that’s damn good for less than a year’s work.

She hates the cold, so we got her a warming stone for her couch nest, and the heating pad lives on her bed in front of the entertainment center. Her sweater collection grows almost every week, and she has three pairs of pajamas so far. She’s figured out that being out in the cold with the sun out is perfectly fine for a walk, but we’re still working on her accepting being out in the rain. She absolutely loathes the rain, but she’s a PNW girl now, so she has to deal. We don’t make her stay out longer than she needs to go to the bathroom if she doesn’t want to, and she has a little, fake grass patch on the porch so she can pee there in the middle of the night.

She’s clever as hell. You put a hunting dog and a rat-catcher in the same body, it’ll happen. It’s led to pooping in the house in the middle of the night because she’s discovered if she doesn’t shake off before she does it, we don’t wake up to see if she needs out.

She’s sweet as can be and loves treats. She also loves people once she’s gotten used to them, though she’ll still decide she needs to bark for five minutes when they visit. We took her to someone else’s house for Thanksgiving, and while she was overwhelmed at times, she mellowed during the night and was playing with her toy by the end of things.

She gets a Puppacino once a week and knows when it’s happening. Her tiny claws are stabby knives of death, but we can’t trim them super often because her quicks are so long. She plays with her toys for about ten minutes at a time, and if she really wants your attention, she’ll get in your lap, stand on her hind legs, and lick your nose.

She is a very good girl, and will likely live well into her teens. Right now, she’s curled on my lap to warm up her feet because we went for a walk. In a couple of hours, she’ll wake up and shake off and move back to the couch or come in and stare at me until I turn on the heating pad on her bed. If she doesn’t get her pill pocket at four, she’ll come and lick my nose.

#dog #britton bean #i am so in love with this asshole #you don't even know

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rovvboat · 6 years

Text

Another? - Reader x dad!Colossus

Summary: Piotr plays a game with his son, which ultimately ends with Piotr on the verge of tears.

A/N: Fluffy fluff mcFluff Flufferson. That’s all I have to say + I literally HAD to write this or my body wouldn’t let me go to sleep. Enjoy!

Word count: 1.8k

The night before...

The room was chill and ambient with the sound of rainfall against your window, thunders sounding by from time to time.

You walk out of the bathroom after a good warm shower – exhausted from the day's errands and work – and onto the sight of Misha, peacefully sleeping on his papochka’s chest,

the faintest rise and fall of his small body – fitted into a baby pink onesie with little farm animals – as his head rested right in the middle of Piotr's chest.

You of all people would know just how comfortable that particular napping spot is, but the sight of your two boys deep asleep in that manner tugged at your heartstrings, and you couldn't help but want this moment to last forever.

You quickly fish out your phone from your bag and snap a few pictures. Mikhail was a spitting image of his father - dark hair, blue eyes. It was like watching baby Piotr sleeping on Adult Piotr.

You smile at that thought, before gently tapping Piotr to wake him up.

"Hey, papa bear." Your hushed voice stirs Piotr awake. "It's not good for you to sleep in this position, sweetheart."

Piotr slowly rises, careful to keep Misha steady, as you help him lay Misha down next to him on the bed.

"Misha was scared of the loud thunder, so I let him lay on my chest and I think we both fell asleep as I was patting him." He rubs his eyes as he explains, before turning his attention to you.

"How was your shower, moya lyubov?" Piotr asks, his voice soft and low, a little bit still drowsy underneath – as his hooded eyes would give away.

"It was wonderful, babe." You press your lips against his forehead. "But I think it's time for the both of us to go to bed. It's almost 1."

Piotr's sleepy voice purrs an affirmative, "you smell nice."

You chuckle lightly at the comment, before the both of you curl up with Misha in the middle, the tired feeling eventually pulling you in where Misha was.

There's very little that comes with parenting that surprised you anymore.

Late nights, early mornings, spilled bottles, sudden bouts of wailing from Misha that just didn't make sense –

did the temperature get too low?

Was he afraid of the dark?

Was the light too blinding?

Did papochka burp too loud?

It all boiled down to figuring out what bothered little Misha, and fixing it as fast as you could, and in this early 6am morning, it was the sudden thundery noises – remnants of the thunderstorm from the night before – that had disturbed his slumber.

Of course, a few comforting pats and humming from you, as you gently bounced him in your arms, always got him smiling and laughing again

– as his eyes glisten, with tears still falling, and the pained bawling stopped; now long forgotten – replaced by the baby gargling you've come to adore.

Piotr, ever the keenly observant father, hovers around you as you carry Misha against your shoulder – doing his best to keep the wide-eyed baby entertained – as you gather the nappy bag to get ready to give baby a diaper change.

"Oooh someone's awfully smelly aren't they?"

You coddle as you hold Misha in front of you, as you feel Piotr's chin sliding up over your shoulder

"Da, very smelly indeed. Misha needs a change, don't you?"

– the both of you stood there for a moment, eating up the scene of your little one;

who's hopping and springing his arms and legs up in the air, as he gurgles and chuckles at the both of you trying to make baby talk to him.

You set him down on the changing table, all the necessary weapons ready to fight off the enemy that is stench and excretion.

Misha holds onto his tiny feet as his eyes follow your every move, your arms moving over and across, grabbing the baby power and wet tissue packets.

When you slip your hand into the deflated bag of diapers, you realise that there's only one left.

"Ah shoot. Petey, I think we've run out of diapers..."

"Oh? I'll go get them right away." Piotr straightens up, and moves to get ready, before you pull him back.

"No, don't worry there's still one left. The roads are still slick, baby. I'll go get it when I go get the groceries later, okay? You stay here with Misha. We could go together, but I'm afraid he'll get a cold if we do." You bite your lip, concerned and looking out for anything that might bother Misha or make him sick.

You feel Piotr press up against your back, and when you turn around, he has your lips locked in with his, holding you close for a fraction of a second, before pulling back – hooded eyes still intensely on you, leaving you smiling.

"What was that for?"

"I do not know. I just love you."

Mikhail squeals from next to you on the table, making you both laugh at your son's welcomed interruption.

Once diaper change was settled, you waited for the sun to come out before heading out to do some groceries and pick up extra diapers.

It would've been easier to just stay at the X-Mansion – the number of hands that were more than happy to help out with Piotr's little baby were more than you could count. But both you and Pete had decided that it would be safer for Misha to stay a few minutes away from the mansion and the city.

The others would still come around to visit, and vice versa, and the number of gifts for Misha that would come from those visitations could fill up an entire room. And for which you were more than grateful, to know how much your new-found family adored Mikhail.

"I'll be back in about an hour! I hope my boys don't miss me too much." You giggle as you place a kiss on Piotr's cheek, then nuzzling against Misha's stomach and giving him a kiss – before heading out the door.

‘’Be safe, moya lyubov. We will be waiting for you.’’

Piotr decides to spend the next hour playing with Misha on his very own Playmat; a large mat that had various different stimulating toys and surfaces for Misha to play with and touch – courtesy of NTW and Yukio, who had bought the more useful of gifts when compared to Wade; who tried to gift Misha a toy sword

(Though, all things considered, that was better than an actual sword – which, Wade wouldn't have been above gifting; and might even do so when Misha gets a little older)

Piotr brings out some other toys, making sure to also bring the purple stuffed elephant – a big favourite of Misha's – which coincidentally had been sincerely gifted by Wade.

"This is Mr. Elephant. Mr. fialyétavyj slon. You love him, don't you Misha?"

Misha coos and excitedly pats his palms on the floor at the appearance of his trusted companion, smiling with his mouth wide open; the room filling up with his delighted screeching. He crawls forward, his small hands gripping the elephant, right as he yanks it away from Piotr's gentle hold.

And as everything does, Mr Elephant is first inspected by Misha's mouth, saliva dripping freely without a care onto Mr Elephant.

Piotr quickly pulls the plush away from Misha's mouth, letting him only hold onto it; as Misha taps furiously at Mr. Elephant – pulling and feeling the tuft of purple fuzz on its' head.

It doesn't take long before both Misha and Piotr are bored, when Piotr recalls a parenting forum which had an interesting game for parents and babies.

He carries Misha into various rooms, collecting the items that are needed for the small game he wanted to try.

Once all was gathered, he puts Misha down on the middle of the Playmat, and positions himself on one end of the mat where Misha could see him. In front of Piotr, there is a pen cap to his left, a large coin in the middle and a toy gavel on his right.

The game was one that was popular among Asian parents, where the baby would be allowed to pick one of the three things;

where each item represented what would be important to the baby when they became an adult. The pen represented knowledge, the coin represented status, and the gavel - strength.

"Okay Misha, you have to choose one of these, okay? Show your papochka what you want when you grow up!" Piotr excitedly encourages Misha. Though he didn't outright believe in the outcome of the game, he found it rather intriguing.

Misha's big round eyes watch as Piotr pats the area in front of the items, calling to him with, "come here, Misha! Come choose."

Misha crawls quickly towards the items, looking at them intently, then back a Piotr.

"Okay Misha, show me which one will be important to you?"

Misha gives him a big smile with a warm chuckle, before pushing aside all the other items and climbing up onto Piotr's knees, reaching out with his arms – asking to be held by his papochka.

Piotr watches stunned, as he realises that out of all the choices, Misha had chosen him.

"Bhoze..." He carries a smiley Misha into his arms and hold him close, as he presses a kiss onto his chubby cheeks.

"ty náshe sakróvischye’’

You are our treasure

He feels his throat choke up as he whispers those words, and without realising, his eyes were brimming with tears of utter happiness.

You open the front door, settling the bag of groceries on the floor, only to be greeted by a shiny eyed Piotr kneeling on the floor with Misha held safely in his arms.

"What's going on here?" You smile, slightly worried at Piotr's seemingly teary-eyed look.

Piotr sniffles, as he gets up to greet you with a warm hug, with Misha in the middle; holding you close for a few moments as his face buries your neck.

"You both are truly my biggest treasures."

That night, after putting Misha to sleep in his baby cot, you snuggle up against Piotr, and as he spoons you; an arm over your waist – he recounts the small game he played with Misha.

You giggle at the thought of Piotr trying out new and interesting games with his son.

"Well, I guess now you know what's going to be important to Misha. I'd also say that the results would be the same if you had me pick a choice."

Piotr huffs a laugh at your response; He lies there with you – thinking only of the present – as he trails little butterfly kisses down your neck. He purrs next your ear as he rests his face by your neck; lovingly entwining his fingers into yours, and brings up your hand, kissing the back of it tenderly. He speaks up after a moment.

"Can we have another?"

Which prompts you to turn your head to face him, before laughing at the innocence of his question. You twist your body around, and pull him into a tight hug, burying your face in his chest as you hum.

"With you, I'd have all the babies in the world."

#piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #colossus #Piotr Rasputin #colossus imagine #piotr rasputin imagine #colossus deadpool 2 #deadpool 2 #deadpool fanfiction #xmen imagine #xmen fanfiction

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profoundnet · 5 years

Photo

Header by @cryptomoon and is available on merch from her redbubble store. You can use all those fancy emojis (and more!) on our Discord server!

The Masterpost is open for all creations by ProfoundBond members which are posted in their entirety during that month.

MEMBER CONTRIBUTIONS FOR SEPTEMBER 2019!

Featuring works from Arielaquariel, @saywhatjessie, @nickelkeep, @mittensmorgul, @andimeantittosting, @banshee1013, hvnlyangel80, @wingsandimpalas, and @lunastories!

Masterpost below the cut.

Arielaquarial - ArielAquariel

The Proper Care and Feeding of Houseplants (G, 9.5k)

Cas is a YouTuber who makes videos primarily about plants. Dean is the unwilling recipient of a fern. Despite his mediocre efforts to keep the thing alive, it's only a week before its knocking on death's door. Desperate to save it before his brother finds out, he stumbles onto Cas's youtube channel.

Tags: Meet cute, youtuber castiel, Missouri always knows, alternate universe, fluff

JessJesstheBest - @saywhatjessie - JessJesstheBest

He’s a Little Bit Country (T, 8.5k)

"Tell me what we’re doing here today, Clarence.” Castiel shifted on his feet, moodily, but answered her in a grumble. “We’re putting on a concert benefit for Planned Parenthood.” “Right! And why is that?” “Because this country is run by a monster who is trying to take away the reproductive rights of women and we need to raise money to continue to fund our program which helps women have agency in their own bodies." Or the one where Castiel, as part of planned parenthood, puts on a joint punk and country benefit concert where he meets Dean Winchester, the handsome country enthusiast who is also an asshole.

Tags: Ace!Cas, Punk!Cas, Planned Parenthood, Cas has tattoos and wears makeup

Hey Baby (Uhh, Ahh) (G, 3.5k)

He had a pretty significant following already from NXT but… this was the big leagues. This was Monday Night RAW. To make his prime time debut during the Monday Night RAW after Wrestlemania was how you knew things were happening. This is where shit got real.

Or a Dean and Cas's first match against each other as professional wrestlers (Prequel to "Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner")

Tags: WWE au

nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep

Paradise by the Dashboard Light (E, 7k)

"It's not our viewers I'm worried about." Castiel groaned and walked to his room.

Balthazar laughed as he headed outside to the car. "I guess I'll have to edit this video. I'll consider this payback for when he put grape juice in my wine bottles."

Castiel stood in the doorway with a pot of water and a suction cup dildo in his hand. "Is there anyone around?"

"Just me. Now come on. You don't want that water to get cold, do you?" Balthazar goaded.

"No." Castiel rushed to the car as quickly as he could, hoping he couldn't be seen. "I swear, I hope none of our neighbors are subscribers."

Balthazar took a few steps back as Castiel poured the water over the dent. After the pot was empty, Castiel handed it to his brother and aimed the suction part of the dildo into the center of the dent. He counted down, "Three. Two. One," and slammed it into place.

Tags: AU - Modern, Strangers to Lovers, Semi-public Sex, Sex on Baby, Morning After Sex, Public Nudity, Sex Toys Not Used in the Way They're Supposed to Be.

What About Us? (M, 9.5k)

Dean ran his hand down his face and headed back to his bedroom. He pulled out “Sweetcheeks'” information and grabbed his phone. After double and triple checking the number, Dean pressed the call button. He wasn't sure what to expect but took a deep breath in and out for each time the phone rang.

After several rings, the voicemail picked up:

Hello, you have reached the voicemail of Castiel Novak. I'm sorry I was unable to take your call at this time. If you could please leave your name, your number, and the reason for your call, I'll be glad to call you back as soon as possible. Have a wonderful day.

Dean frowned. The guy sounded like a decent sort. It also meant that he had probably been the other guy. As the tone sounded, Dean let out a heavy sigh and left his message.

"Hi, Castiel. I'm probably the last person on the planet you ever want to hear from, but my name is Dean, and I think we need to have a talk. It's about April. My number is (555)-555-6767. That's my cell. I'll have it on me all day, so please call as soon as you can. Thanks."

Tags: Modern AU, Infidelity (Not Dean or Cas), Implied Domestic Abuse (Not between Dean and Cas), Author is not a Lawyer, Slightly Dubious Interpretation of the Law, Revenge is Best Served Hot, Implied Queerphobia, Car Destruction (Not Baby), Happy Ending

Stay With Me (E, 7k)

Cas nodded and followed after Dean as they made their way to the elevator. They took the ride up in silence, Dean trying his damnedest to not stare and admire Cas. He knew that Cas humored him for the evening, listening to him rant about issues in Modena. But the looks he received in return, the smiles, the genuine interest. If there was any interest returned, Dean was screwed.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, letting them off onto their floor. They walked the few feet to their shared room, with the single bed and the probably not-as-comfortable couch. Cas unlocked the door and opened it, and Dean followed inside, turning to close it and lock it.

As Dean turned back around, Cas was already sitting on the couch, taking off his shoes. He walked closer and looked at the bed before looking at Cas. "So, I was thinking."

Cas looked up. "About?"

"We're adults, right? It's a king-size bed. There's room for both of us on there. There's no need for you to sleep on the couch. It's not like you were kicked there for doing something wrong. You haven't done anything wrong."

Tags: AU - Modern Setting, Archaeology/Anthropology, Strangers to Lovers, There Was One Bed!, One Night Stand, References to Recent Events (Lovers of Modena), Angst with a Happy Ending

Something So Magic (T, 5k)

About halfway through cleaning and treating the wounds, the cat started to stir. It let out a very confused sound meow, causing Dean to chuckle. "I know, right? Last thing you know, you were outside with a big bad bird swooping in over you." The cat turned to look at Dean. "Aren't you a bright little guy? Sorry, I figured that out while cleaning you up." Dean tended to a final spot along the cat's rear leg. "Almost done, and I can get you something to eat."

The cat chirped in response and tilted its head.

"All done." Dean held up a finger and turned his head before sneezing. "Sorry little guy, I'm allergic to cats. But you do need some strength. I'm pretty sure I've got a can of tuna or something around here." Dean wandered over to the kitchen area and looked through his cabinets.

The cat rested it's head on its paws and watched as Dean dug through his rations. "Here we go. One can of tuna. I guess that's a little cliché, but you work with what you've got." Dean opened the can and drained out the excess water. "While we eat, I'm gonna look for a spell to heal you up a little more so you can be on your way, okay?"

Tags: AU - Modern with Magic, Witch!Dean, Familiar!Castiel, Light Angst, Fluff, Spells and Enchantments, Happy Ending

Use Both Hands (E, 2.5k)

“I’m still not going to talk about it, Sam.” Dean’s back was to the door, and his head was resting in his palms. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Would caffeine help, Dean?”

Cas’ voice caused Dean to whip around and look at the door. “Uh. Yeah, it’s um...” Dean ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s appreciated, Cas.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Dean.” Cas set the coffees and the bag of pastries down on the table before carefully pulling one out of drinks out of the tray. He crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to Dean, handing him the cup. “Sam told me that you were suffering from some head issues.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean let out a half-hearted chuckle before taking a sip of his coffee. “Of course he’d say that.

Tags: Canonverse, Love Confessions, Sammy Ships It, Pray for Sammy, Porn with a Little Plot

mittensmorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittenWraith

It’s Lily Dale (T, 14k)

They were at it again, Sam thought to himself as his eyes closed and he tilted his face up toward the heavens for mercy. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing full well there was no mercy to be found in Heaven, but maybe silently hoping the ceiling might cave in on him and put him out of his misery. It was an old bunker, after all, and who knows if they actually repaired all the damage from the grenade Dean fired off in there a few years back? It could happen, but unfortunately, sitting at a table in the library researching for a case-- any case that would give him an excuse to leave for even a day or two-- was probably his best bet. Even worse, the three hours Dean and Cas had been out running the long list of errands he’d invented to get them out of his hair for a while hadn’t been long enough for him to find that precious, precious case.

Tags: Alcohol, Love Confessions, Fluff and Humor, Sharing a Bed, Misunderstandings, Long-Suffering Sam Winchester, Background Case, Curses, idiots to lovers

Eleven (T, 2.5k)

It's been eleven years since a hunter an an angel walked into a barn... it's time they gained some perspective on how incredible the last eleven years have been.

Tags: Feelings Realization, Dean Winchester Talks About Feelings, Castiel (Supernatural) Talks About Feelings, it's all just a bunch of feelings

andimeantittosting - @andimeantittosting - andimeantittosting

Friends With Benefits With Tentacles (E, 7.5k)

Dean's never been embarrassed about his porn collection before, but that was before he found Cas holding his prized copy of Sweet Princess Asuka and the Tentacles of Pleasure. Dean finds himself sweating bullets—because this is Cas, sweet, nerdy Cas. Cas, his friend. Cas, his roommate. Cas, his—only slightly out-of-control—crush.

Cas, with his big, blue eyes and muscular arms and perpetual sex hair.

Cas, with his tentacles.

The last thing he expects is for Cas to suggest they experiment together.

Tags: Alien!Cas, Consentacles, Friends with benefits to lovers, Roomates, Miscommunication

Banshee1013 - @banshee1013

Toes In The Sand (SFW)

"Toes In The Sand', Art created for the Suptober Art Challenge (Days 4, 5, and 6), with accompanying fluffy ficlet.

hvnlyangel80 - hvnlyangel80

Kiss Me Under The Mistletoe (M, 7k)

Holiday Prompt Challenge: Dean Winchester loves the holidays. Every Year just after Thanksgiving at the local mall they have a contest and give away something fantastic. This year it is a 1967 Chevy Impala and not just any Impala, It is Baby, his Baby.

The contest is called 'Kiss Me Under The Mistletoe'. You have to kiss someone for as long as possible lips cannot break. Last lips touching win Baby and 10g's. The trick is you are blindfolded and you wander around until they tell you to 'Kiss me under the Mistletoe ' Dean will do anything to get his Baby back. ANYTHING.

Enter Dr. Castiel Novak College grad with too many student loans to his name, he needs the 10g's and could care less about the car. He signs up for the contest and when the buzzer hits he feels the most sensual pair of lips. Cas does not know how long it goes for but he wants more of this man.

When the blindfolds are removed what will be their reaction to the other? They say there is magic when you kiss your soul mate under the mistletoe. Do you believe in magic Dean Winchester? Time to find out.

Tags: Castiel and Dean Winchester First Meet; Professor Castiel (Supernatural); Mechanic Dean Winchester; holiday fic; Meet-Cute; Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss; Castiel (Supernatural)'s First Kiss

Wingsandimpalas - @wingsandimpalas - WingsandImpalas

Watching from the Window (T, 2k)

Castiel's neighbour is singing again and it takes all of his willpower not to laugh. It’s not that he's a bad singer, quite the opposite, in fact, he's brilliant. It’s just that without fail every time the man steps into the shower he will power belt of all things: Disney songs.

Tags: Getting together, Neighbours, Dean is in a band, Disney songs

Lunastories - @lunastories - LunaStories

Only One Fucking Bed (T, 2k)

Dean and Cas get a call from Sam requesting their help on a ghost hunting case he'd been working on. They head off to meet him but end up at the wrong cabin. As if that wasn't enough, there was only one fucking bed.

Tags: fluff, there was only one bed, cuddling

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #spn #profoundnet monthly masterpost #profoundnet #september masterpost #member fic #member art

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pseudonymfox · 6 years

Text

Abort Mission (10)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend have powers, now he is dead and you are expecting a baby. Hydra is interested in the child so they send the Winter Soldier. What happens if Bucky unexpectedly falls for you…

This Part: (timejump) Three words are spoken before you don’t even realise that it might me a goodbye for now...

Warnings: fluff, angst, timejump, foreshadowing to civil war

A/N: hahaha no I am not crying at this...shorter I know but I wanted to post it really badly :’D

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

<<Previous Part

A year and a half later…

Archer grew up to the most beautiful young little baby boy you’ve ever seen and also very fast. It didn’t take long for him to start crawling, brabbling, standing up and taking the first steps. He was a really active child and very curious about every little thing. As the first snow started falling he was going crazy, trying to catch it with his tongue and giggling as the snowflakes fell into his face. Christmas was interesting he played with all the wrapping paper not even with the toys he got, of course he didn’t understand the meaning of it but you are happy if he was. New Years eve was horrible you had to put headphones over his ears, he didn’t liked all the noises and explosions.

His first word wasn’t as you thought it would be ‘Mama’ or ‘Papa’ or something similar. No it was ‘Buck’, over and over again he would repeat this one word. He probably tried to copy you cause apparently you said Bucky and Buck a lot and he just picked that up. Bucky thought he is just blabbering and it was random but nope he couldn’t convince you. If that is his first word than you are fine with it. Also you really liked it as his first word.

You moved to another part of the city again but just because you saw randomly an add while shopping. It was just enough for the three of you, at least bigger than the last one so you moved earlier than you thought right after his first birthday, you expected it to be at least when Archer was old enough to use a own bed instead of the crib or sleeping with the both of you all the time but your future plans seemed to change all the time.

You woke up to Bucky grumbling something quietly and Archer giggling, turning over in bed you saw his little hands in Bucky’s hair gripping and pulling on it tightly while Bucky hid his face under the pillow. He started to pull and be a bit rougher with you, especially with both of your hair.

“Well somebody is awake” you chuckled trying to hold Archer back from Bucky’s hair.

“Certainly” you hear him say, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“How about we use the day to go to the park. We haven’t been there yet” you suggested, it would be more productive then staying inside all the time and you should use the warm days as long as they are there.

“Why not. Before I’ll lose more hair on my head” he stood up. You shortly after to get ready.

Right after breakfast you got dressed and packed a few things for a picnic, it didn’t took much longer with dressing as long as you distracted him with something. The park wasn’t so far away so you picked a good spot under a tree and laid out the blanket and food.

“Why are you frowning so much?” Bucky said as he held his hand up to not get blinded by the sun.

“Just thinking..-it’s nothing” you loosened up and tried to hold Archer on the spot before he got the chance to crawl away.

“About what?” Bucky asked interested. You always told each other everything.

“Archer. he doesn’t show any kind of sign of having a power. Obviously not mines cause he hates water and we would have noticed if he has Lukes.” you said worrying. Augustus told you a bit about Mutant baby’s, if you called them that.

“Maybe he does or I- I don’t know maybe not? We’ll just wait and see” he assured you trying to cheer you up.

“I guess so..I just don’t wanna miss it or want him to grow up like me and think that something is wrong with him cause he doesn’t know..I just worry to much” you cut yourself off and stood up with Archer going to the swings that were not far away leaving Bucky on the spot to entertain your son for a while, make him tired because he had way to much energy sometimes. Bucky enjoyed the sun for a while, for once really relaxed and empty thought. He didn’t have that often, sometimes he still had those dark days where everything came just crushing down on him. It got better.

“What a happy little child” a voice let you almost gasp out loud as you got lost in swinging Archer in the baby swing carefully back and forth, he had a laughing fit in this thing. Turning around to the voice, which had a slight almost not noticeable russian accent that belonged to a man. “-What’s his name?” he asked. “Uhm- Archer..his name is Archer” you stuttered out. Taking a quick look back to Bucky who still laid on his spot.

“Which one is yours?” you asked back, he turned around looking nervously through the crowd of people before pointing to a women and a toddler in her arms a few feet away from you.”That’s my wife and.. son” You didn’t believe him.

“Well I better get going. Thank you have a good day” you chuckled nervously and picked up Archer, who already started to squirm not wanting to get out of the swing yet. Walking a bit you turned around again to take another look but he was gone.

You stood still on the point before looking to the women he claimed to be his wife and child, they suspiciously still sat there.

Did you turn crazy now? You didn’t imagine that did you?

“Oh good you’re back, just wanted to come and get you. Wanna head home again?”Bucky asked smiling taking Archer from you and putting him the stroller.

You stayed silent and just decided to keep it as it is, forcing yourself a smile on the lips while looking around paranoid and confused. Might be nothing besides your constant anxiety. It sadly didn’t let loose of you, the weird feeling in your guts told you there gotta be something wrong, they kept you awake the whole night not letting you close your eyes at all.

Right in the early morning you got to the farmers market, a cold shower helped to collect your thoughts a bit and the warm sunny day kept you distracted while running errands.

Bucky’s POV

Bucky picked up some fresh fruits right away, mostly plums because he loved them and Archer did too., every few seconds he would take a quick glance at you just to make sure and calm his nerves. He noticed you looking at some flowers, a colorful mix of Lilies before putting them away again and following the crowd to other markets.

“Hey buddy wanna buy some flowers for Mama?” he said to Archer that currently laid in his arms still a bit sleepy, playing with the strands of his hair that peeked out from behind his cap that he had on. He quickly brought the ones you just looked at and made his way to you. Why was he so nervous suddenly?

“Hello you two..-Oh are these for me?” Bucky handed you the flowers smiling happily and nodding. You blushed and admired them for a few moments.”-thank you so much. they are beautiful” you leaned to him and kissed him. He saved up every little moment from these moments like they are his source of happiness. The little boy in his other arm started to squirm again.

“Mama!” he said giggly, bouncing up and down to make himself noticeable.

“Awww you wanna have kisses too?” you laughed and started prepper his small face with kissed while tickling him. He had a real laughing fit from this. Over your shoulder he saw a men by a kiosk looking at him shocked before moving away and running down the streets, completely abandoning his shop. He thought about telling you but he didn’t wanted you to worry about something that could be nothing especially now in this very moment. Not with Archer. He hoped it was harmless, cause with you and Archer he had a life so different, something he never saw himself in, a family like this. It got better everyday. And you wanted to life so bad and saw you everyday with a smile waking up and falling asleep, you deserved this, he wasn’t really sure about himself but he wanted this. With you.

“How about we go home again. I’ll just pick up a newspaper” he lied, cursing himself for it. He hated it. Going to the stroller he let down Archer and strapped him secure in, even if he didn’t wanted to and made grabby hands to him right away.

“Okay. I feel like baking a cake today what do you think?” you asked putting the flowers carefully on top of the stroller for a second, trying not to crush him.

“Good..Yeah we can go buy the rest on the way home.I’ll catch up with you” Bucky was ready to turn around before you stopped him shortly by taking his hand.

“Oh and Bucky?-” you said thinking about your next words carefully before not thinking too much about it any longer and just saying what you were thinking for a while now, it just seemed like the right time. “-I love you” you said and he didn’t hesitate to move back a few steps to you and grab your face in both of his hands, kissing you with everything he had to make sure that you knew he meant it.

“I love you too” he replied in between a few other shorter pecks and kisses. Pulling away he looked you deeply in your eyes that lit up full of love and adoration.

Sometimes he wasn’t even sure how you would like or simply stay by his side for so long after he shared and mostly after you saw it yourself what he had done. He guessed that after everything you have been through together, it either makes it worse or better. In this case, definitely better.

Going over the streets he took a last look back to you slowly disappearing in the crowd. Sighing he turned around and looked up the newspaper. The title told him everything he needed. The front covered with his photo and the bombing in Vienna.

“More than seventy people have been injured. At least twelve are dead, including Wakanda's King T'Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier”

He heard the small tv inside the kiosk say showing pictures and video of the people. Things he was supposedly has done. For one second he thought he forgot again, that this was really happening but like you told he he repeated his actions in the last few days and nothing in his memory showed any indication that he could have done this. He was with you and Archer all the time. Now it’s all over the media and the people already staring at him differently he thought about going back to you and run but this had nothing to do with you and Archer. You are innocent and he had go through this alone if he wanted to you safe.

You would probably insist on helping him. Painfully he turned around in the other directions making his way home to prepare. Fighting for what he loves, only wanting you to be safe. It didn’t even matter if they would get him but from what he knew was that they are only after him.

Next Part>>

Feedback appreciated!

Tags: @slender--spirit/ @racheo91 / @torntaltos / @1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe / @haru-ririchiyo / @escapetheshackles / @memory-of-a-goldfish / @thetimidsarcasticcat / @midnightdream83 / @dorkprincess / @mrsdeanwinchester19 / @andyfootnote / @learisa

If you enjoy my content, please consider supporting what I do :)

xoxo Sophie <3

#Bucky #Bucky x reader #Bucky barnes #Bucky barnes x reader #The winter soldier #the winter solider x reader #ca:cw

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ladyramora · 6 years

Text

Child's play

You did it so quickly you hardly had time to warn anyone else, Alphinaud’s stunned face still so easy to recall when you brought in your new brood when he summoned you to slay another false God. They all were shocked, at the various species and sizes of the children you were now in charge of, but then again making yourself the official guardian of T'kebbe and every other orphan at the orphanage in Idyllshire would probably do that… But you had more than enough room at your house for them, you had been visiting the orphanage so much that they practically saw you as a parent anyway and you’d had trouble coming to your home (ya know, the one you bought for yourself for all that money that you never friggin’ use) for a while now because it was so lonely there.

And while some people would assume that you were too busy being the Warrior of Light and killing false gods and liberating countries that you had no time for raising children.

They were WRONG.

These were your babies now, you were going to give these kids a wonderful childhood filled with meeting new people and learning all sorts of fun and helpful things and you were determined to make these little ones’ lives better. You had happily walked around market places with them, picking out wallpapers, toys and furniture for their rooms, discussing who would share with whom, planting a garden, setting up a chore wheel, buying them new clothes and taking them to various guilds to help them find new hobbies and make friends…

You loved it so much and it had even helped modivate you into slaying whatever plagued the realm faster so you could go home to your beloved babies, who would come swarming at you the moment you opened the door. This had been one of the things you’d been hoping for since before you first arrived in Eorzea; a family to call your own.

One day, after a fun afternoon of rough housing and playing with the many pets you adopted because Dear Gods you couldn’t say no to all those pouting faces, and tending to the gardens and helping muck out the stalls when you realized that you were missing a few ingredients for dinner. You herded your family into the house so you could be sure they’d be safe and you could grab enough coins to buy what you needed and told them you’d be back soon, explaining where you were going, what you were doing and that you’d be back soon.

You’d been gone fifteen minutes at most, your purchases in a bag hanging off your wrist as you happily made your way back to your house…

Only for your blood to run cold the moment you saw your door was smashed in and there were large shoulder pad impressions by the doorway.

There was only one bastard who would dare break into your house who was that big;

Zenos.

You dashed in, grabbing your weapon as it lay by the door, ready to destroy the monster who could harm your precious children…

Only to have to cover your mouth not to ruin the moment.

Zenos was sitting in his big, intimidating armor, his arms crossed and his lips pulled into a pout as two children braided his hair, three were climbing all over him, another one was asking him about twenty questions and four were running around him, chasing all of their pets. You counted the children and finally spotted your eldest one dashing towards you, nervous and confused.

“He… He just rammed through the door and the next thing I knew, he was like that!” T'kebbe blurted.

“I’m sorry I missed it.” You chuckled before calling out for the younger ones to wash up to help you prepare for dinner. The younger ones and the animals immediately ran over to greet you, and after hugs and kisses, the little ones ran to your washroom to wash their hands and faces before they would help prepare dinner.

“T'kebbe, would you mind starting the oven for me?” You ask, the cat girl looked at the massive man in black armor nervously.

“I’ll deal with him, could you take this into the kitchen and make sure no one eats the pie I made yet, please?“

She nodded, still nervous and collected the bag from you before scurrying towards the bathroom, ready to escort her siblings to the kitchen first before doing as you asked while you walked over to Zenos, who was covered in mud, paint, drool and had colorful ribbons and awkwardly shaped braids in his hair.

He glared up at you, "Your cubs take after you in savagery.” he said plainly.

“Hey, you break my door down, you deal with my kids.” you said with a shrug, “And you know you could’ve knocked first, they would’ve told you to wait outside for me, every other person who’s come to my house to challenge me has done that without me even having to tell them that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He hissed before saying that, “Although I don’t think it would be kind to let your children watch you lose."

"Tough talk for someone who was taken down by those who still have not even battled the horrible demon that is puberty.” You retort before offering him your hand, “Come on, we have enough room at the table for one more, even one your size.” You say loudly enough for your little ones to hear.

Your youngest three gasp happily before latching themselves onto his legs, shouting, “Zeny’s staying! Zeny’s staying!”

‘Zeny’ did not appreciate the new nickname nor did he like his new living leg warmers. But he did and said nothing to them in an attempt to rid himself of them. If anything, he simply took a moment to figure out how to move without accidently hurting them before walking towards the kitchen as he grumbled under his breath, “At least I know how you move so fast now, with these mongrels latching onto you like this all the time.”

“You call my children ‘mongrels’ again, I’m making roast Zenos instead of Roast Dodo. And yes, I will stuff you before I cook you.” you threatened in a sickeningly sweet voice as you and T'kebbe herded the rest of them into the kitchen to set the table and help prep the food. You and T'kebbe enjoying watching the younger ones once again make Zenos their plaything as dinner cooked.

“You know, this might sound strange, but I think he actually might be kind of nice.” T'kebbe said, “Either that or he knows that if he tries anything with us, you’d turn him into dust.”

“I’m fine with either.” You replied, “But after coming home to this, I am definitely going to teach all of you a few moves tomorrow just in case 'Zeny’ comes back to play. Maybe I should get you some Red Mage gear and teach you a few spells too, just in case he brings a friend."

T'kebbe brightened, "Really? You mean it?”

“Of course! Actually…” You paused and looked over at Zenos, “Hey 'Zeny’, after dinner, could you give T'kebbe a few tips about welding a sword? I have a training dummy in the back you can use.”

At the words 'tips’, 'sword’ and 'training dummy’ his face broke out into a large grin that made you start to crack up before he quickly broke it to glare at you, “and why would you want me to do that?”

“Consider it a way to help pay off the debt you owe me for the repairs.” You said as you indicated the broken doorway. He seemed sheepish at the sight of the damage and muttered about it not being his fault the door was so damn small.

“Does this mean Zeny’s going to come to visit more often?” one of the older ones asked.

“Let’s see how well he can handle teaching your sister first before we go that far.” you tell them. You looked at Zenos, a smile on your face as you asked, “You think you can handle that, Zeny?”

He gave you a wide grin at the challenge before replying “Teaching her? Child’s play."

Lolz: I just really love the idea of the Warrior of Light coming back from a quick errand to either their adopted child(ren) or a child(ren) they are babysitting and find that they have made Zenos their plaything. Just the thought of the big bad prince of death and swordplay being quickly defeated at the hands of a child (or children) is hilarious to me and can be made into so many funny scenes in my head, like Zenos wearing his armor, a big floopy hat and a tiny feather boa as he sits at a super tiny play table with little girls, having a tea party and holding a miniscule tea cup with his pinky up. Or Zenos being the princess (he’s the only royal they had around, so he’s the princess now) while the little boys play knights and 'rescue’ him. Or just having kids skipping all around him or having a kid in his lap excitedly reading a story from their favorite book to him and all the while he’s pouting and being all grumpy about it because he doesn’t really want to play but he never says no to the kid(s).

that and picturing him in any of those scenarios with the Warrior of Light biting back laughter and him glaring at them is too amazing, I am DYING here.

#this is really cute #I love all those ideas XD #submission #lolzwaitwhat writings

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p-artsypants · 6 years

Text

Boy Toy (Act IX)

I have been reading each and every review that comes in, and I appreciate all of them! I also understand some of you are worried about the ending. And I promise, all of my stories have happy endings! (Because it makes the suffering worth it.)

FF.net | AO3

—

With the collapse of Bludvist, its seemed like the whole Kingdom as they knew it did a complete 180. Daily, Stoick received letters asking for loans and building permits to finally fix some essential buildings. The hospital was on the top of the list. It had been knocked down, looted, and burned over and over again, but Stoick had been adamant that building had to survive, no matter what. So now, with the threat of constant destruction gone, an entire new hospital was being built.

Next on the list was the orphanage. For obvious reasons. Stoick was also offering, what was essentially, free money to those who needed it the most. Families were coming in groups, each collecting a sum and then pooling them together to make enough for a really nice housing unit. Once spring broke in a few weeks, the building could begin, and life would go on.

But that was not so for everyone. Almost immediately after the attack, three men came to Stoick, groveling. They spoke of a plot of assassination on the Tsar’s head, and begged forgiveness since they turned themselves in.

Since none of them knew any helpful information on the matter, they were thrown into the dungeon, and security in the palace was doubled. There wasn’t much else to be done.

Meanwhile, Hiccup and Astrid continued their daily walks. Slowly this time, as Hiccup was still recovering from his grievous wounds, and he had a new leg to get used to. Toothless likewise was recovering, but the brave little thing was doing fine.

“Astrid, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“When…before I was taken…I had this feeling.” Though he had decided to brooch the subject, he couldn’t quite find his words. “Were there days when you didn’t wind me up?”

Astrid glanced to the snow. “Yes,” she stated, softly. That was before she knew he was human, when she thought she could do what she wanted. “It was days when the calendar was just full of meetings and brunches…I knew I wouldn’t have any time to really interact with you…so I just left you off.”

He furrowed his brows as he studied her. “I don’t think you’re being honest with me.”

God, had he already learned to read her so well? That was a painful thought.

“You got me.” She admitted. “There were days I didn’t start you up…because…” She couldn’t say it. It was just to horrible, and just confirmed everyone’s hateful words about her.

“You started to grow tired of me?”

Her eyes slammed shut. So he figured her out? Well, it was fairly obvious. In the past months, he had proven his intelligence and had already come a long way from the naïve puppet he was at the beginning.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not.” She frowned hard, holding in painful thoughts. “You’re my husband…my best friend. And I treated you like dirt.”

“Astrid, you didn’t know…”

“I should have!” She shouted, disrupting the peaceful snowfall around them. “I spent the most time around you, so I should have seen it! I should have seen that you had a heart and feelings—“ She turned her head away from him, hiding her shame. “But I was so blinded that I missed it all.”

Warm hands encircled her shoulders. “But that was then, and you came for me. Now, you’ve opened up to me. I forgive you, Astrid.”

His words allowed her shoulders to relax and her head to roll forward. “I…I’m going to make this up to you, Hiccup. You’ve suffered your whole life, and now I want you to enjoy your time you have left.”

He smiled at her gently, and let his fingers dance across her cheek. “I don’t remember much of my old life. My purpose now is just to make you happy. So don’t worry about me, okay?”

Though she audibly agreed, on the inside, she had a much different plan.

—

The next morning, she awoke to see Hiccup still asleep next to her. His body was still, not breathing like a normal human, but pressing her head to his chest, she still heard the ticking of gears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. “But I need you to stay asleep today.”

She dressed on her own, before Ruff or Tuff even arrived. And when they did, she surprised them by opening the door before they could knock.

“Oh, you’re up early.” Ruff acknowledged.

“I have business to attend to today.”

“Like the brunch with Heather Zerker?”

She had forgotten about that. “I need to reschedule. Today I’m doing something for Hiccup.”

The twins stared in awe, and then scrambled to take care of the necessary preparations.

“Yes!” Cried Ruff, glancing at her list. “We’ll take care of everything! Don’t worry a bit!”

“And, one more thing...” she warned them. “Hiccup is powered off for the day, because what I’m doing is a secret. Leave it that way.”

The twins saluted.

“Good,” she stated, adjusting her cloak to cover part of her face. “Now fetch Snotlout. I’m going out.”

—

The first stop on her errand run was to Gobber’s.

The toy maker was busy at work, he and Fishlegs were repairing some of the more salvageable toys she had in the basement of the castle.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat.

“Your majesty!” Fishlegs nearly shouted, dropping a screwdriver.

“As you were,” she stated cooly.

“Well Princess,” greeted Gobber. “What can I do you for? Is Hiccup alright?” He noted the boy’s absence.

“My husband is doing well since the incident.” She provided. “But I’m here on a private matter, one that must remain secret from him.”

Fishlegs stopped his working and listened in interest.

“Oh?” Asked Gobber.

“I would like his name, his real name.”

Gobber sighed, “Are you sure about this? He doesn’t have any memories and he—“

“His name, Gobber.”

“…it’s Henry.”

The memory of the woman during the parade came to mind. She had also called him Henry.

“And his last name?”

“I don’t know.” Gobber shrugged. “When the lad was still a little thing, maybe around 8 or 9, he came and asked me to teach him how to make toys, because he couldn’t afford to buy them himself. So I took him in as an apprentice. He said he didn’t have a last name, and that he lived with his mother in the narrows.”

The narrows were a part of the town down by the docks. Where most of the buildings were abandoned warehouses, there were a handful of shacks, some being only a room with a whole family in it. Being so far from the market meant they were far from the Berk Guard. There was no protection from criminals, but there were rarely raids from Bludvist all the way down there.

“So he was your apprentice?” She asked, “for how long?”

“Up until he died, actually. Fishlegs joined us about two years ago, when we made that working catapult.”

Ah yes, she remembered that one. A great deal of fun.

“You met him a few times too, on birthdays and Christmas.”

Her eyes widened. “What? I did? I don’t remember…”

“He never introduced himself, but he was there when we delivered presents. He said he enjoyed seeing your reaction.”

A guilty knife stabbed her in the gut and made her weak in the knees.

“I met his mother on occasion, but she seemed like a very private person. Didn’t say much, and never stayed for very long. But she loved him immensely. He never knew his father.”

“When did he…you know…?”

Gobber sighed, sitting on his bench. He glanced to a room in the back corner, that was covered by a sheet. “I should have noticed sooner. He never ate the food I gave him, instead wrapping it up to take home to share with his mother. He was always skinny, skinny as a twig. But then one day, he fell in the snow and broke a few ribs. It wasn’t a bad fall, so I knew something was wrong. Turned out, he hadn’t eaten in weeks. His mother was ill, and he gave her every morsel he could scrape up. All the while, he was lying to her that he was eating his own portions. So we sat him down, and forced him to actually eat. But by then…it was too late. His mother came to me crying, and said that he went to bed feeling sick, and never woke up.”

Tears came to Astrid’s eyes, hating everything that was being said.

“We buried him, and then we came to your birthday ball.”

Her eyes widened. “Right after?”

“It was a good distraction.” Provided Fishlegs.

“When you said ’I want you to make me a husband’ my immediate thought was ‘we should bring Henry back.’”

“How?” She asked, “How on earth did you do it? In three days, no less?”

Gobber beckoned her and Snotlout into the back room. It was a workstation, and it looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in a long time. “Is this…?”

“His work room, yes. Henry was extremely smart and creative, despite having no education. He taught himself how to read, and did research on physics, aerodynamics, human and animal anatomy…everything that caught his interest.” Gobber picked up a journal that sat on the workbench. “It started innocent. He found a little black cat that was missing a leg, and nursed it back to health, creating a fake leg for him.”

“Toothless!” She exclaimed.

Gobber stared at her in surprise. “Yes, that was what he called him. How did you know that?”

She smiled, fondly. “He…Toothless was following him. Hiccup found him in the courtyard and took care of him. He dubbed him Toothless out of the blue, and the name stuck.”

Gobber smoothed his mustache. “It seems…some of his memories are coming back to him.”

Astrid nodded, but said nothing, urging him to continue.

“Not long after people noticed Toothless walking everywhere with him, a little old woman came to us. She had lost her cat to old age, but she wanted her companion with her for the time she had left. So Hiccup designed a…system of sorts. Something that worked like an artificial heart to keep the body running like it normally would. Only, it had to be powered by a hand crank. Therefore, the wind up key. When it worked, we kind of thought he was crazy, but he promised never to touch it again.”

“You mean he designed…that whole thing?”

“Yes, every detail and note is contained in this.” Gobber handed her the journal. “He didn’t create it with the intention to revive a human, and if I hadn’t been drinking, I probably wouldn’t have tried to do it either. It is rather…morbid and wrong.”

Astrid didn’t say anything, just held the journal in her hand.

“But, of anyone in Berk that deserved a second chance…I think he definitely earned it.”

Astrid wiped her eyes.

“Does that give you closure?”

She looked to him. “Does he have any other journals? Can I take them to him?”

Gobber frowned. “Are you sure? If he reads these…it could bring back old memories.”

“That’s what I want. I know he suffered, but he deserves to know the truth about who he was.”

Gobber sighed, knowing there was no arguing with the Princess. So he simply nodded and got to work packaging up all his notes and sketchbooks. “Just be careful.”

She nodded.

—

The next stop was the graveyard. she wasn’t quite sure why she decided to come here, but she just wanted to see his grave. Maybe to cement the fact that her husband was dead at one point.

Problem was, the graveyard was fairly large, since Bludvist tended to keep things busy.

“Do we even know if his graved was marked?” Asked Snotlout.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I should have asked Gobber.”

“Pardon me,” a voice spoke.

Turning, they were greeted by a man not much older than the Princess, looking rather large and imposing. He wore red robes, those associated with the church, but had three blue lines inked on his broad chin.

“You’re a—“ Astrid began, taking a few steps towards her guard.

“A milk drinker?” He asked, pleasantly. “Yes, I was. Don’t worry, it frightens everyone. I may have been born up in the mountains, but I don’t consider it my home. My name is Eret, I’m the undertaker here. Now that you know that I’m not going to hurt you, can I help you?”

Astrid smiled in relief, but Snotlout did not relax his guard. “I’m looking for a grave. The name Henry, buried around November 13th.”

“Hmm…last name?”

“No last name.”

“No last name? Oh! I think I actually know who you’re talking about. This way.”

The Princess and her guard followed Eret past all sorts of statues of angels and headstones, until he stopped at a little plot. It was only marked with a puny wooden cross. “Well, this is it. Young Henry, died of starvation.”

“Yes, this would be the grave we’re looking for.” There was no body in it, but just the sight of the cross sent a real, true coldness to her bones. She crossed her arms a little.

“Did you know him?” The undertaker asked.

He obviously had no idea who she was, since her hood hid her identity. And it was safer that way. “No, not really. Did you?”

“A bit.” Said Eret. “I began to keep an eye on his mother after his passing. She’s quite ill, and it’s only a matter of time before…”

“What is she ill with?” Astrid asked, not hiding the concern in her voice.

“Not sure. She can’t afford a doctor. We here call it poverty disease. It’s when someone gets sick, and then can’t afford any care. Eventually it’s just exacerbated by them trying to continue working…”

“Where is she? I’d love to help.”

“She lives down in the narrows, by the old fishery. Her name is Valerie.”

—

Astrid, for being the Princess of a country, had never been to the narrows before. Surely, Stoick would throttle her if he found out she went there with only one guard.

“Hey Astrid?” Snotlout asked softly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re good at fighting too. This place makes me nervous. Not that I can’t protect you, but…”

“I wonder how many times Hiccup was jumped coming home from work?”

Snotlout sneered, “once would be too many.”

They spotted a woman doing laundry, and asked her if she knew of a woman named Valerie. Then they were pointed in the right direction. Despite the grittiness of the area, the folks were helpful enough. Though Astrid did receive a few too many lewd looks while Snotlout received the finger.

“I dressed down,” Astrid noted, looking at her plain clothes. “But I still look a lot nicer than all these people.”

“Lets just find Hiccup’s mom and get out of here.”

Finally, they came to a little shack. Smoke rose out of the little tin chimney, indicating that someone was home. Astrid knocked, “Hello? Miss Valerie?”

A weak voice answered from within. “Who is it? What do you want?”

“I…am a friend of your son’s. I would just like a word, please.”

There was a pause and then, “come in.”

The shack was in order. A small room with two beds opposite of each other, and a fire pit in the middle of the dirt floor. Nothing else was there to mention.

In one bed laid a woman, looking incredibly thin and frail. She fought to sit up, coughing a few times. “Hello?”

Astrid didn’t know what to say. A few months ago, she had mocked this woman, and called her crazy. But now, she was meeting her mother in law, and didn’t have a clue how to proceed. “Uh…”

“You knew my Henry?” The woman’s eyes were filled with sorrow, and the dirt on her hollow cheeks made her look like a skeleton.

Oh, Astrid should have put more thought into this. Yes, reuniting Hiccup was his mother sounded like a wonderfully kind thing to do. But the woman had already lost her son once, and now he was going again. This wasn’t fair to her.

“Please,” said Valerie. “Tell me how you knew him...I miss him so much.”

With a sad sigh, Astrid stepped forward, and took a seat on the bed, pulling her hood from her face. “I know your son…”

“You’re…the Princess Astrid? But…how? Why? Here?” She shook her head. “Your husband, during the parade…”

“He is Henry,” She confirmed, holding the woman’s hand. “He’s alive.”

“He’s a—…” The woman dissolved into tears and curled in on herself.

Snotlout watched in awe as his princess embraced this filthy beggar woman in a comforting hug. He had fairly recent memories of Astrid spitting on such people.

But that was before Hiccup came along.

“Snotlout,” Astrid called.

“Highness,” he snapped to attention.

“Can you fetch a carriage? She needs to come with us to the palace.”

“No, no please...” the woman begged, her tears making streaks in the dirt on her face.

“Listen,” Astrid said, taking a firm grasp of her arms. “Henry is...he’s not the same boy that you knew. He did die, that is true. But the toy maker brought him back. He doesn’t remember who he used to be, and his body is entirely dependent on machinery now.”

“...what?” The woman breathed.

“Unfortunately...there’s been a malfunction.” She looked into the mother’s eyes, and felt her voice die in her throat. This wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t be doing this! “He...he won’t last much longer. But you deserve to be with him, too.”

Valerie shut her eyes tight as she continued to cry, overwhelmed in grief and relief.

“But you’re very ill, and I can’t let you stay here.”

“I can’t!” Valerie protested. “I can’t go with you!”

Astrid pleaded with her, earnestly. “I’m not leaving my mother in law to starve like a wretch in this squalor! You’re coming with us!”

“No!” She cried. “It’s not safe for me! It’s not safe for Stoick! I can’t go back!”

Wait.

“What?” Asked Astrid, leaning closer. “What did you say?” No one ever called the Tsar by his first name alone, well, except for her.

Valerie shook her head. “I’ve already said too much, I can’t…it’s not safe…”

Gently, Astrid grasped the woman’s arm again. “Please. If this a threat to our safety, you need to tell me.”

The woman wiped her eyes, trembling. “I’m sorry…I…Valerie isn’t my real name.”

Astrid just stared at her, eyes narrowing.

“My name is Valka, Valka Haddock.”

Silence reigned as Astrid stood suddenly, shell shocked. Haddock was Stoick’s last name, a rare fact because of the royal status. And Valka…Valka had been the name of his late wife. The one taken by Bludvist.

“I don’t—“ Astrid stuttered, “I don’t understand. You’re the queen?”

Valka hushed her, “you mustn’t speak so loud!”

“I’m sorry,” Astrid took a calming breath and returned to sitting on the bed. “Please, continue. I’m all ears.”

Valka gnawed at her lip, nervously. “Stoick and I…we were married. At first, it was…a rough marriage. Arranged.”

She had heard a little about the marriage from Stoick. He wasn’t keen on talking about it, but when prodded, he admitted that he had been fond of her before she was lost.

“When I found out I was pregnant,” began the woman, “I was…overjoyed. Stoick was a nice, gentle man, but he didn’t love me the way I loved him. With our baby, it was like…I’d finally have a part of him to love me back. However…the Chancellor, Osvald Zerker, was not happy about this news.”

“The Chancellor? Why?”

“Because if anything happened to Stoick, he would win the crown.”

She had heard nothing of this before. “What? Since when?”

“Since Stoick was an only child with no heirs. Technically, Spitelout, the Captain of the Guard, was the closest relative, but he was not deemed competent enough to rule. So Osvald was deemed viceroy. That is…until the crown prince was to be born.”

A cold fear crept into the back of Astrid’s mind when she remembered Dagur. During a the fight that ensued over Mala’s pregnancy, he had carelessly mentioned that he was only interested in her for her power. Now it seemed like Dagur hadn’t gotten that idea on his own.

“Osvald came to me one night, two guards with him,” Valka continued. “He gave me a choice. I could purposefully lose my baby, or I could save him and kill Stoick in his sleep. If I refused to both, they would take me to Bludvist, and that would be the cue to start the raids on the royals.”

“So…Osvald wanted to take the throne?” Astrid asked. This would confirm the plot of assassination those men had warned them about.

“Yes, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get it.”

This was turning out to be a very interesting and insightful day. As soon as they returned to the palace, she would make sure that Osvald was jailed.

“I chose to run. After a while, the guard stopped looking for me, and assumed I was taken by Bludvist. In this way, I was able to protect Henry and Stoick.”

“Oh my god!” Astrid said suddenly, the last bit of information clicking into place. “Hi—Henry is Stoick’s son!”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“He’s the Crown Prince!”

“Yes.”

Astrid put her hands on her head, dealing with this information. What a strange twist of fate. She shook herself out of her trance. If all this was true, she had a lot of work left to do. “Well, it’s safe now.” Astrid assured. “Osvald can threaten you all he likes, but I personally saw that Bludvist was eradicated. And we are aware of the assassination plot, so the guard in the palace in on alert.”

“But some of the guards are plotting with Osvald!”

“Never the less,” Astrid pressed. “I am next in line for the throne. If he wants to hurt Stoick, he’ll have to get to me first, and I will personally make him suffer as Fragonard suffered.”

Uncertainty was still violently within Valka. After all, she had spent her whole life hiding, and just a few words were supposed to put her at ease?

“You’re coming with us. I’m not giving you a choice.”

Resigned, Valka closed her eyes. “Alright then, I’ll come back.”

#boy toy #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #hiccup #astrid #Astrid Hofferson #Snotlout #fanfiction #hiccstrid #pinocchio!AU

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